


The Conquered King

by LeftHook



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Awkward Crush, Bromance, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Violence, sulky teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHook/pseuds/LeftHook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin wasn’t usually at court, but everyone in the castle was summoned to the Great Hall when Cenred returned from war, his knights dragging the king of Camelot and his half-grown stripling of a son behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sic Semper Tyrannis

Merlin wasn’t usually in court, but everyone in the castle was summoned to the Hall by the clanging of the bells when Cenred returned from war, his knights dragging the king of Camelot and his half-grown stripling of a son behind him.

A great cheer went up from the Great Hall as Cenred strode through the crowd, his boots still muddy and stinking of smoke and blood, teeth bared in a predatory grin. He raised the flag of the kingdom above him as he went past. Gaius went still beside him as the knights pushed two ragged figures after him. A few beats later, the crowd recognized Uther, bloodied and battered, his graying head bent low and hands tied behind his back, and hushed.

“My people!” Cenred roared as he reached the daius. “Fortune smiles upon the kingdom of Cenred. For this day we have doubled our lands and gained the ill-gotten spoils of Camelot!” The crowd cheered.

Morgause strode up beside him, beautiful and deadly in her armor. Cenred extended his arm and held up her hand. “Your Sorceress and I conquered this day the lands ruled over by black-hearted Uther Pendragon, who for so long has waged war upon our people. Never again.”

The knights shoved Uther to his knees in front of the dais.

“Before you is Uther, the tyrant,” Cenred announced. “What have you to say for your crimes?”

Uther spat sideways and faced Cenred. “I have nothing to say to a man who relies on sorcery as a crutch to win a war unjustly.”

Cenred snarled and Gareth, who was Merlin’s least favorite knight, knocked a blow against the back of Uther’s head. “He shows no remorse,” Cenred said to the crowd. “He shall pay for his crimes.”

The cheer almost drowned out Uther’s boy’s outraged shout. “You’re wrong!” he yelled, struggling against the knights holding him. “Don’t touch him, you filthy piece of rot!”

“Your son has not been taught the Code, I see,” Cenred said to Uther. “No matter. I shall do it for you.”

Uther’s head whipped up. “Do what you want to me, Cenred,” he said. “But do not punish Arthur for my actions.”

“So that is Arthur,” Gaius said beside Merlin.

 Merlin had seen King Uther before, once, years ago, when the peace talks failed. He had never seen his golden-haired son, dirty, clad in chain mail too big for him. “He looks about the same age as me,” Merlin said.

“Yes,” Gaius said, throwing a long sideways look at him.

“What?” Merlin said.

Gaius merely turned back to watch as Cenred gestured to the knight holding Arthur. Gareth pushed the prince headfirst to the floor of the daius. Uther cried out in protest as Gareth knelt heavily on the boy’s back, and Cenred laughed.

“Let him go, Cenred!”

Cenred strode forward to squat on his heels in front of the deposed king and reached for him. Uther tried to jerk his head away, but Cenred wrapped an arm around the back of his shoulders and spoke directly into his ear. Merlin only caught the words because he was so close.

“I won’t let him go, Uther. You know why? Because you took something precious away from me, something I could never forgive, and I could never kill you before I returned the favor.” He leaned back, grabbed the king’s chin, and turned it sideways so that both of their gazes fell on the young prince, still pinned against the stone.

Uther’s shoulders rose and fell jerkily. Whatever he said, it was in a whisper, and Merlin couldn’t catch it.

Smirking, Cenred just nodded at the knights. “Take them to the dungeons,” he said. “I’ll deal with them later. Today, there is feasting to be done.”

*

They summoned Gaius to the dungeons just before supper the next day. “We’d better take everything,” Gaius said, referring to his largest portable collection of herbs and bandages.

Merlin watched Gaius’s face as they stepped through the cell doors and saw what remained of the royal family of Camelot. The physician’s face was like stone, but he had spent a lot of time with Gaius, and Merlin could tell he was upset by the grim lines of his mouth.

Uther stood in chains at the far end of the cell. Blood was drying at one temple, but naked anguish brimmed in his eyes as he looked at his son. Arthur knelt in front of his father, his hands chained to the floor.

Cenred turned as Gaius and Merlin entered. “Ah, Gaius,” he said. “Excellent. Please see to our guests. I don’t want anyone dying on me yet.”

He wiped his hands on a cloth and dropped it in Merlin’s hands as he strode past them.

Gaius bowed as Cenred left. “Unpack that, Merlin,” he said.

As Merlin unrolled Gaius’s tools, he heard Gaius step forward to Uther’s side.

“Please, Gaius,” Uther said. Merlin looked up sharply. He had never heard Cenred use the word _please_. He thought that simply wasn’t something that a king said. “Please,” Uther said again. “You have to get Arthur out of here.”

“I’m afraid I cannot, my lord,” Gaius said sadly. “Cenred keeps you under night and day watch. I could never expect to escape with my life, nor guarantee anyone’s who tried to free the boy.”

Uther’s head bent low against his chest.

“Don’t worry, Father,” Arthur said. “I won’t let you down. The Knight’s Code - ”

“Shut up, Arthur,” his father snapped harshly. “This isn’t a matter of honor. And you’re not a knight.”

“But Father, I’m almost -”

Uther snarled at his son. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I would rather die a thousand deaths than see you like this.”

The prince lost his father’s gaze and dropped his eyes to the floor.

“I shall do what I can,” Gaius said in the sudden, heavy silence.

“Thank you, Gaius,” Uther said. “I - I am sorry.”

Gaius held the king’s gaze for a long moment with that peculiar searching look he sometimes gave Merlin. Then he nodded, curtly, and turned away.

*

“Why do you care for the royal family of Camelot?” Merlin asked as they made their way back. “From what I hear, Uther would’ve had you killed. Me, too.”

“Uther....was not always the way he is today,” Gaius said. “I served him, long ago, in Camelot.”

“You did?”

“Yes. He was a fine king in his day. But he allowed his heart to override his judgment.”

“What does that mean?”

Gaius looked around. No one lingered in the south corridor this time of day; it was always too hot. “You, boy,” he said, poking a finger in Merlin’s sternum, “have lived under a mediocre king your whole life.”

“What d’you mean? We just won a war against Camelot.”

“Cenred’s strong. So was Uther. But he is not a great king. Neither is Cenred.”

“What more to being a great king is there than being strong?”

Gaius sighed. “See? That’s how I know you’ve never lived under a great king. Now pick up the pace, Merlin, we’ve got to make up the rest of our rounds in half the time.”

Merlin hurried after him. “You never answer my questions.”

“That’s one question that can’t be answered, Merlin, it has got to be shown.”

“UGH,” Merlin said, loudly, and Gaius’s laughter followed him down the hall.

*

Gaius was quiet the rest of the day. Merlin could sense his unease, and it made Merlin a little nervous, but mostly curious.

“Are you worried about Uther?”

Gaius paused in his mortar and pestling to look up sharply at Merlin. “He is no longer my king,” he said. “There’s no reason why I should be worried.”

“But you are,” Merlin persisted. “Your eyebrows get all beetle-y like that when you’re worried.”

“My what?” Startled, Gaius reached up to feel his white eyebrows, then hastily dropped his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin.”

“Why’s he so important to you?”

Gaius paused for a moment before answering, and Merlin got the feeling he was choosing his words carefully (of course, Gaius did that a lot, but at least he wasn’t saying _You’ll understand when you’re older_ , which Gaius also did a lot, and which Merlin absolutely hated).

“There’s destiny at play here, I think, and it always pays to be careful when destiny is involved.”

“Destiny? Whose destiny?”

“A lot of people’s,” Gaius said vaguely, and then he snapped, “Like yours, if you don’t get that purslane gathered before the King needs his nightly draught. Go on, out with you.”

*

The lash fell again, and Uther’s hoarse cry broke the taut silence at last.

“Stop it, Cenred! Stop it! Please. Punish me!”

Cenred turned on his heel, leaving Arthur panting on the floor, his sides striped with blood.

“I am punishing you, Uther. You can’t imagine the delight my soul finds in your anguish. Because we hadn’t understood each other before, right?” He tucked the bloody lash up under the king’s graying stubble, turning Uther’s face up toward him. “Now that you watch me torture your loved ones, as you tortured mine, we can understand one another. As men. You won’t understand it fully, though, until that moment,” Cenred spat at his feet, “the moment when you are held helpless while I reach in my hand and pluck out your son’s still-beating heart.”

Uther’s red-rimmed hazel eyes widened, the pupils shrunken down to slips in the center. “No,” he whispered, and his eyes slid beyond Cenred to land on his son. “You must punish me for my own actions. It is only justice.”

“Justice?” Cenred snarled. “This is justice, Uther, there has never been anything I have done in my life more just than this!”

“This is vengeance!” Uther snapped back. “Not justice. Even a cowardly king like yourself must recognize that!”

Cenred’s face whitened by degrees, then color rushed into his cheeks.

“Vengeance,” he said, finally, the words deadly calm. “Uther Pendragon, you have not begun to see vengeance!”

He strode back to Arthur. Arthur’s eyes were half-lidded, glazed with pain, but they shot open when Cenred grabbed a handful of tangled hair and yanked his head up. “Your father cares so little for you,” Cenred said, “that he’d rather score a point against his enemy, even in defeat, chained to a wall, than hold his tongue for your sake.”

Arthur glared back, curled a lip dark with blood. If he hadn’t been so transcendently angry with the entire Pendragon line, Cenred might have felt a thin thread of respect. But he was angry.

“The price for your father’s arrogance,” Cenred said, releasing Arthur’s hair, and bringing his boot up, “is a scream from you.” He brought his heavy, iron-soled boot down on Arthur’s right hand, chained to the floor, and Arthur jerked, stifling a yell behind his teeth.

“No? Again?” Cenred said, stomping on Arthur’s wrist a second time.

“Stop!” Uther cried. “Cenred, stop! I - ”

“You what?” Cenred held his boot just above Arthur’s wrist. The boy trembled all over, tears leaking down his face with the effort of keeping silent. “You will apologize? You will take back your words and the ugliest of deeds?”

“I...” Uther hesitated just a beat too long.

“You gutless whoreson.” Cenred slammed his heel down on Arthur’s wrist a third time and heard bone snap underneath it. Hot, angry pleasure flooded his chest when the prince screamed in pain.

“Arthur!” Uther cried.

“Apologize!” Cenred roared, keeping his boot down, feeling the grind of bone and tendons.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“For what?”

“For speaking against you!” Uther’s hands twisted in his own chains. “Please, release him!”

“No, you puling spawn! For Alwena!”

Cenred ground down on the boy’s wrist with his boot again. Arthur sobbed miserably and Uther’s whole body flinched. “I - I am sorry!” he said, his voice breaking. “I am sorry - for killing her! I should have sent her back to you! I am sorry for the suffering I caused you - now please, release my son!”

Cenred lifted his boot off Arthur’s mangled wrist and the prince curled forward over it, tears dripping off his face.

“Do you understand now?” he roared at Uther. “Do you understand what it is like to feel the pain of watching those you love tortured for no fault of their own?”

He had drawn his sword before he thought, striding forward to bring it up underneath the king’s chin. Uther’s own eyes glistened with tears. “You’re not sorry. You will never understand,” Cenred hissed. “You care only for your own suffering. I can see it in your eyes. You will die choking on your own blood and knowing you have failed your kingdom and your kin.”

Cenred had not intended to kill the king so early. He had plans, ideas to bring out the torture longer, watch Uther fall apart. But as he stood an inch from the king’s repulsive, blubbering face, his arm moved of its own accord and slit Uther’s throat.

“NO!” came Arthur’s anguished scream. “NO! FATHER!”

“Arthur,” the king’s lips formed the word in blood. Then he choked. Cenred ran him through, just for good measure.

“Die, Uther Pendragon,” he said. “Die alone on the end of my sword in a dungeon. Die thinking that you could have lived on had you not chosen to burn my daughter at the stake, for no reason, for no harm she had done to you. Die knowing I will rule over your kingdom, and my heirs after me. 

"And your son - “ he looked back at Arthur, the boy’s good hand reaching out as far as the chains allowed toward his father. “I think,” he said slowly, as Uther’s blood bubbled out his throat and down his chest, “I’ll keep him. Won’t he make a pretty slave in the house of Cenred?”

Uther’s eyes turned on him, soundless, fathomless. Cenred pulled his sword out. Uther fell to his knees.

“Goodbye, Uther Pendragon,” he said, turning his back on the dying king.

“Unchain me!” Arthur screamed as Cenred stepped past him. “Please!”

Cenred stopped, thought. Then he pulled the ring of keys from his waist and bent down to unlock Arthur’s chains. Arthur yanked his mangled wrist free from the manacles without a sound and flew to his father’s side.

Cenred watched him cradle Uther’s face, golden head bent over the graying, bloody one. Uther’s lips moved again, once, shaped a word he didn’t have the breath to speak aloud.

They both heard the rasping, scraping breath rattle in and out of Uther’s chest, once, twice, and then the life fled from his eyes as surely Alwena’s had done while the fire licked at her from all sides.

Arthur buried his head in his father’s bloody chest, wracking sobs heaving his frame.

This death was too good for Uther Pendragon.

Cenred locked the cell and left, wiping the blood from his sword on his tunic as he went.


	2. Salvation's Other Face

Merlin saw her for the first time when she had nightmares and they called for Gaius in the middle of the night.

When he followed Gaius into her chambers she was wearing a white nightgown embroidered with tiny green flowers, and her dark hair tumbled down her pale shoulders, and Merlin dropped the jug of hot mead with honey he was carrying.

It broke on the floor with an earsplitting crash, splattering him and Gaius with mead.

“Merlin!” Gaius rounded on him. “What on—I do apologize, my lady,” he said, and Merlin saw that the girl was holding her hand to her mouth, badly startled from the noise. Morgause was looking daggers at him from where she sat, holding her sister’s other hand, on the bed.

“Sorry—sorry—” he stammered, flapping his hands. “I—oh—er—”

“Clean it up, boy,” Morgause hissed, and Merlin scrambled for a rag.

“I apologize for my assistant, my lady,” he heard Gaius say as he scrubbed the floor. “I’m sure it did nothing to calm your poor nerves.”

“Not at all,” the girl said, and her voice was beautiful too. “I just—was a bit startled, is all.”

“Clumsy fool,” Morgause muttered. “Gaius, my sister suffered a bad nightmare. We were hoping you could bring something to soothe her.”

Merlin’s ears perked up. Sister? He had never heard that the sorceress Morgause had a sister. When had she arrived? The girl was dark as night and Morgause was fair as day. He supposed that siblings did not always look alike, though.

“Of course,” Gaius said. “I brought a bottle of my best calming draught, and as soon as he’s finished here Merlin will go fetch some more honey mead. There’s really nothing like it for night terrors.”

“Thank you,” the girl said. “Er—“

“My name is Gaius, my lady.”

“Morgana,” the girl said, offering her hand.

Merlin, rising to his feet with the rag, saw Gaius’s back stiffen. But all Gaius said, as he bent forward in a bow, was, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

“Merlin,” Gaius said, and Merlin jumped.

“I’m going, I’ll be right back. Sire. My ladies.” Morgause and Gaius ignored him, but Morgana looked straight at him and smiled thankfully. He bowed, backing toward the door, and whacked his hip on the edge of the solid oak table.

Her eyes were bright and dark in the candlelight. Merlin fled. As the door closed, he heard Gaius say,

“Tell me, my lady—do you have magic, by any chance?”

By the time he returned, the Lady Morgana was looking better, the desperate lines around her eyes smoothed over. She accepted the cup of mead Gaius poured her with another grateful smile.

“Drink it all, my lady, and I can guarantee you’ll be sleeping peacefully in another ten minutes’ time,” Gaius promised.

“Thank you, Gaius, you’ve been so helpful,” she said. “There is something about you that is very comforting. I can see why you are the king’s physician.”

Gaius bowed. “I am only glad to be of service, my lady.”

“This will be the last night you will need him,” Morgause promised her sister. “Tomorrow I will find you our mother’s bracelet. I did not know the same affliction troubles you as it did her. It seems we have much to learn about one another.” She smoothed a dark tendril back from Morgana’s forehead. “You’re dismissed, Gaius.”

“My lady,” Gaius said.

They had reached the door of their quarters when Gaius said, suspiciously, “Out with it Merlin, what is it?”

“What is what?” Merlin said, startled.

“Why haven’t you asked me a thousand questions from the moment the door closed?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Merlin said, setting Gaius’s bag down on the work bench as Gaius hung up his cloak.

Gaius looked at him, but heaved a long sigh. “Oh, I’m too old for this in the middle of the night.”

“Good night then, Gaius,” Merlin said and went to his room.

*

Her eyes weren’t dark at all, but the most brilliant green he had ever seen.

She joined Cenred, Morgause, and the lady Elinor, the king’s aunt and stewardess of the castle, for midday meal the next day. Her green silk dress, sewn with little white jewels, lay softly against her white breast, and the sun revealed her skin was even more perfect than it had looked the night before.

“Shut your mouth before your tongue falls out, Merlin,” Gwen whispered to him as she passed, carrying a tray of fish.

He shut it with a clack and followed her with the bread.

“I hope this morning finds you well, Morgana,” Cenred said as Gwen set the fish down in front of him.

“Indeed, sire, I feel quite restored,” Morgana said. “Thank you again for your hospitality.”

“I am delighted to welcome the kin of Morgause into my court,” Elinor said. She put her wrinkly, bejeweled hand on Morgana’s pale one. “You are welcome for as long as you wish to stay, and I hope that will be a long while.”

Merlin retired behind Cenred’s chair along with Gwen.

Morgana’s eyes flickered to Morgause’s face. “It is...still a wonder, and a gift, to know that I have kin,” she said.

Morgause smiled, the most genuine smile Merlin had possibly ever seen from her. It truly transformed her face. She reached out and covered Morgana’s hand with her own.

“Sister,” she said. “You don’t know how long I have waited to have you back with me again.”

Morgana blushed and ducked her head shyly.

“Tell me, my lord,” she said shyly, a few minutes later, toying with the edge of her cup. “How fares Uther?”

Morgause and Cenred stopped eating and looked at each other. “He need not concern you any longer, sister,” Morgause said, in a very different voice. “As far as I’m concerned, he will burn in hell for the torment you received at his hands.”

“It wasn’t torment,” Morgana said. “He cared very much for me, I’m sure of it.”

“And how much would he have cared for you if he learned you had magic?” Morgause scoffed. “No, sister. It’s bad enough you lived in fear of being found out. Good riddance to that tyrant.”

“Good riddance?” Morgana echoed, looking from one to the other. “What do you mean?”

“He’s dead,” Cenred said, spearing a chunk of bread with his knife. “Pity, really. I meant to torture him a bit longer, but it just sort of happened.” He shrugged and ate the bread.

Morgana’s mouth fell open. “Uther....Uther’s dead?” she said in a very small voice.

“Sister,” Morgause said. “Why do you care? He was a monster, and he’s dead.”

“You don’t understand,” Morgana said, shaking her pretty head. “Uther raised me as his own. He wasn’t a monster to me!” She half-rose to her feet, looking faint.

Morgause rose as well. “Sister,” she said, a bit more gently. “I can understand it’s a bit startling. But you’ll see once you have time to see things for what they really were in Uther’s kingdom. He was a tyrant, and his death will only bring good to this world.”

Morgana held the back of her hand to her mouth. “Please excuse me,” she whispered, and turned and fled.

“Morgana,” Morgause said after her, but the girl did not reappear.

“Eat your meal, Morgause,” Cenred said. “Let the girl run. She’ll get it over it soon enough.”

Morgause sat down slowly.

“Gwen,” the king’s aunt, Elinor, said. Beside Merlin, Gwen stirred. “Yes, your ladyship?” she said, stepping forward.

“The Lady Morgana will be staying with us,” Elinor said. “She’ll need a maidservant. You’ve been training with the guests, I believe? I want you to serve Morgana.”

“Yes, sire,” Gwen said, curtsying. “Thank you.”

“She might need a friendly face at the moment,” Elinor said. “Go find her, will you?”

Gwen bowed again and hurried off after Morgana.

“I should go after her,” Morgause said.

“Not you, my dear,” said Elinor gently. “She’s still learning to trust us at the moment, and after all, we did just kill her guardian.”

“I suppose,” Morgause said. “I don’t understand. All of Uther’s kingdom who had magic lived in terror of him. Why doesn’t she see that?”

“She will,” Cenred said, picking his teeth with the pearl-handled knife he kept in his belt.

“What did you do with Uther’s boy? Did he die before or after his father?” Morgause asked.

“I didn’t kill him,” Cenred said.

“What?” Morgause hissed, and even Elinor looked mildly disapproving.

“He may yet die from his punishment,” Cenred shrugged. “But it occurred to me he’d make a fine slave. It would please me to see the son of Uther mucking out my horses and scrubbing my floors.” Cenred looked closely at Morgause. “What?”

“I don’t like the idea of the lineage of Pendragon surviving,” Morgause said. “They only make trouble.”

“If he does, I’ll kill him,” Cenred shrugged.

“I agree with Morgause,” Elinor said. “This...vengeance...won’t sit well with everyone. You should just have killed them both at Camelot and claimed they died in the battle. Torturing a noble won’t please some of our allies. You know as well as I that isn’t done.”

“It is done when the noble has murdered my kin in cold blood,” Cenred said, trying and failing to keep his voice neutral. "Besides, I have just taken the unconquereable castle. Who would dare oppose me now?"

Elinor waved her hand. “Indeed, it is in the past. We will deal with it from here.”

Cenred tossed his knife on the table. “I’m off to court. Shall I see you at dinner?” he asked Morgause.

“Yes,” Morgause said.

“Good.” Cenred got up. “Boy,” he said, gesturing to Merlin as he passed in a swirl of black cloak.

“Yes, sire?” Merlin said smartly.

“Have Gaius check on the Pendragon whelp, will you? If he’s not already dead.”

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin bowed.

*

“Uther’s dead,” Merlin said as he burst into the physician’s chambers with his customary clatter.

Gaius’s head shot up. “What?”

“Cenred killed him. That’s what he said at supper just now. And we're to go check on Arthur.”

"So he's alive then." Gaius closed his eyes and made the sign of the old religion over his heart. "Get water, and bandages."

“Yeah, Morgana was pretty upset,” Merlin said, moving to get their supplies. “I guess Uther brought her up, but she’s really Morgause’s sister? I don’t understand how that came to be.” He looked out the window for a moment, thinking dreamily back on the green dress.

When he looked over at Gaius, the old man’s eyes were still closed. “I still don’t get why you cared so much for Uther. From what Cenred and Morgause say, sounds like our kind are better off without him.”

Gaius grunted. “Hurry up," he said tersely.

“Dunno if there’s that much rush,” Merlin said, slinging the pack over his back. “Cenred didn’t really sound like he was sure Arthur was still alive.”

“Can’t you see beyond the end of your own foolish nose?" Gaius said. "Arthur’s important.”

Merlin followed Gaius as he put on his cloak. “But he’s just a slave now.”

“You of all people should know better than to dismiss anyone because of his station. Now let’s go.”

*

Gaius dragged in a breath when they saw Arthur.

For once, Merlin was silent too. The tableau that awaited them when they had the guard unlock the cell was sobering.

It wasn’t clear whether Arthur still lived. The blood spread around him and his father was thick and dark.

Gaius moved slowly closer, as apprehensive as Merlin had ever seen him.

Uther was clearly dead. His eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. His face was white and wrong, the features beginning to stiffen and swell a bit, and the gaping wound at his neck had soaked blood onto the stone floor and spread in a black sticky pool around him.

Arthur was kneeling next to his father, face buried in Uther’s gory chest. As they got closer, Merlin could see his torn back rising and falling slowly. He lived, then.

Gaius looked at Merlin. He looked shaken. Merlin felt it too; the thick blanket of misery over the fallen king and his son hung in the air, clinging to his skin.

“Come on, young prince,” Gaius said softly, kneeling to place his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s time to let your father go.”

Arthur barely stirred under the touch. Frowning, Gaius bent further over him, laid two fingers against the side of his neck.

“Help me,” Gaius said to Merlin.

Merlin came closer reluctantly. The misery in the air was as sticky as the pool of blood. Merlin could feel it. He didn’t want to touch the prince or his father.

“Let’s go, Merlin,” Gaius snapped more harshly, seeing Merlin hesitate. He tapped Arthur on the side of the face. He didn’t respond.

Merlin bent and helped Gaius pull Arthur’s limp body off his dead father. The front of Arthur’s torso was painted in Uther’s blood.

As they lifted him, Arthur roused a bit. His left hand still clutched his father’s lifeless fingers. “You must let go,” Gaius told him again.

Merlin reached over and unhooked Arthur’s fingers, one by one. Uther’s dead hand, still chained to the wall, slid down and landed limply on the floor. Merlin shuddered as the same time Arthur whimpered, softly, then was silent.

“I am sorry,” Gaius whispered, feeling Arthur’s forehead. He frowned. “He’s got a fever. I’m afraid these cuts are infected.” Then he pinched a fold of Arthur’s skin between his fingers. “Badly dehydrated, too. We’ll have to get water into him, and fast. Let’s get him up to our quarters.”

Of course they laid Arthur down in _his_ bed, the cot in the front wasn't good enough. He was probably too out of it to even notice what he was lying on, Merlin complained half-heartedly, but Gaius ignored him, his hands hovering over the nasty cuts on Arthur’s back and sides.

Merlin trailed off as he looked at them too. He had rarely seen such punishment visited on someone so young, even in Cenred’s kingdom, where punishments came freely.

“Get me that clean water,” Gaius ordered.

Merlin brought the jug of water and set it down on the little side table. That was when he saw Arthur’s wrist.

“Gaius,” he said.

Gaius leaned forward, over Arthur, to look. The boy’s right wrist was badly broken, the entire joint swollen and bruised and bent at an odd angle. Gaius pinched his lips together.

“This will need treatment,” he said, “but for now, we’ll have to focus on bringing the fever down. He’ll survive this wrist, but he won’t survive the night if the fever keeps increasing. And what do we give for fever like this?”

“Feverfew?” Merlin guessed.

“We’ll need something more powerful than that,” Gaius said gravely. “The prince must not die.”

Merlin wanted really badly to ask why Gaius felt so strongly about him—and why he kept calling him _the prince_ when Arthur was at best just a slave now, and an ill-favored one at that—but for once he could tell that Gaius would just get mad, so he held his tongue.

Arthur didn’t rouse as Gaius quickly splinted the wrist and cleaned the cuts—they didn’t have much time before they were needed elsewhere—revealing angry red streaks where infection had set in. Merlin trickled a little water down his throat and wiped off as much of Uther's dried blood as he could, though it was still soaked into the trousers Arthur wore. Then they had to finish their rounds, though, so they covered him lightly with a blanket and set out.

When they got back, so late from the delay that the sun was just beginning to settle over the treetops, Arthur was worse. He had thrown off the blanket and was curled on his side, shivering, his cheeks flushed with color.

Gaius cursed when he saw him, his hands already going to the shelves for his anti-fever draughts. Merlin crossed over to pull the sheet back up over Arthur.

Arthur was deeply lost in delirium, but they managed to get a little potion and more water down his throat. He didn’t even screw up his face at the potion, which Merlin knew from experience was foul.

“D’you think he’ll be okay?” Merlin said, when they had done all they could and laid a cool cloth over his forehead.

“Let us hope so,” Gaius answered.

“Merlin? Gaius?” A knock sounded at the door.

“Hey, Gwen!” Merlin jumped down to the front chambers and opened the door. “What’re you—” He looked down. She was carrying a plate of the most beautifully decorated pastries he had ever seen. “Holy spirit, Gwen! Where did you get that? And is it for me?”

Gwen looked tired, but grinned. “Not all for you, silly,” she chided. “Some of it’s for Gaius. I already took some to my father. The Lady Morgana couldn’t eat, so she told me to take it home. I think I’m going to be glad to work for her.”

Merlin’s hands were already straying to the biggest tart. “Take it,” Gwen said, laughing, as she shouldered past him inside.

“Ah, Guinevere,” Gaius said, nodding. “Are you well?”

“Yes, Gaius, thank you,” she said, dipping her head. “I don’t know if Merlin told you, but I’m to be the servant for Lady Morgana!”

“Ah, that is a big step up for you, isn’t it? I’m pleased to hear it,” Gaius said warmly. He washed and dried his hands in the basin.

“Have you two even eaten yet?” Gwen said, watching Merlin polish off the tart in four bites. “It’s late.”

“No,” Merlin said piteously. “We’ve been caring for Uther’s son, you know the one who was—”

“Uther’s son?” Gwen said, surprised. “I didn’t realize he was at the castle still.”

“Well, he’s here, but he's really sick,” Merlin said. “Gaius says he might not survive the night.”

“Is he here?” Gwen said, looking around.

“Yes. In my bed.”

Gwen glanced at Gaius. “Do you mind if I go check on him? I’ve never met him.”

Gaius nodded. “Of course.”

*

Shadows chased their way across Arthur’s mind, one after the other. He smelled the smoke as Camelot burned, saw the knights fighting and dying and the black-clad enemies and the white soldiers climbing over the walls in a tide that seemed inevitable, unstoppable. He smelled blood. He smelled death.

He felt as though he was trapped in the fires again. His teeth chattered together. He couldn’t make them stop.

And at the edges of his mind, a crest of horror seemed to push inwards, something that was too big to think about, too awful to contemplate. He knew what it was but he didn’t want to know....

The fire was so hot.

And then he felt a pair of cool hands come to rest on either side of his face. The horror at the edges faded back a little, and the heat ebbed.

The hands smoothed over his cheek and stroked sweat-dampened hair back behind his ear. He leaned into the touch, a little desperately, not at all like a strong knight of Camelot should, but he couldn’t help it.

There was a voice, soft, soothing, strong, beautiful. He couldn’t make the words out through the fog, but they opened something raw inside him and it was both comforting and painful.

The hands left his face. He struggled to the surface, desperately. He had to see...He forced his eyes open, the lids like iron.

For just a moment, he saw her. Soft brown eyes, so sad, and beautiful dark curls tumbling around her face....

Then his lids shut—he was powerless to stop them—and he slid back under the darkness.

*

Gwen came back as Merlin finished licking the crumbs off the platter she had brought them. He expected her to chide him for his breach of manners, but she said nothing. She looked sad.

“What happened to him?” she asked, looking at Gaius.

“Cenred killed his father,” Gaius said. “He...Arthur was alone with the body for a long time.”

A look of horror spread over Gwen’s face. “Is that where all the blood on him is from? Is that his _father’s_ blood?”

Gaius looked grim.

“Will he be all right?” she asked.

“If he lives the night, he’ll live, I believe.”

“I hope you can cure him, Gaius,” Gwen said. “I hope you enjoyed the pastries. I’m going home.”

“Yes, thank you,” Merlin said. “Anytime Lady Morgana doesn’t have an appetite....” he said hopefully, hoping to see Gwen smile.

“Of course,” Gwen said, and she didn’t smile, but she didn’t look quite so dire, either. “Good night.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that I love awkward Merlin, so very dearly? *g* Thanks for reading! Next ep: Way less blood; Arthur wakes up in customarily dramatic fashion; Merlin gets a chicken; this fic might finally pass the Bechdel test.


	3. The Art of Losing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Arthur?” he said cautiously. At first he had been discomforted by the direct stare, but it was becoming more and more apparent that Arthur wasn’t really seeing him. It was kind of creepy, frankly.

Gaius wanted to stay up with Arthur, so Merlin made himself up a bed with the heavier winter blankets in the corner and curled up.

When he woke, the first fingers of sunlight poking through the curtains, he could tell Gaius hadn’t slept. That was on balance, Merlin decided, a good sign.

“How is he?” Merlin said, trying to stretch the kinks out of his back from the night on the stone floor.

Gaius sat, heavy-lidded, at Arthur’s side. “He made it through the night,” Gaius said.

Merlin came closer. Arthur still shivered; it was clear his fever hadn’t broken yet. But neither had he died.

“Did you give him something?”

Gaius nodded. Shadows were already pooling underneath his eyes. “Not too long before dawn, he got worse. I had to do a little magic to keep his fever down.”

“That’s why you look so wretched,” Merlin said. “You should have woken me up to do it, Gaius.”

“Couldn’t bring myself to do it,” Gaius yawned. “Plus, I would have had to listen to your complaining first.”

“I wouldn’t have complained!” Merlin complained.

Gaius rolled his eyes. “Get some water and heap up the fire, will you? If I can’t get any sleep, the next best thing will be some good hot porridge.”

Merlin shoved a clean tunic over his head, grabbed the bucket, and ran down to the tap to fill it. The castle was beginning to stir with servants, filling buckets of water and shaking out blankets. It was bread-baking day, Thursday; Merlin sniffed the air appreciatively. His stomach rumbled as the bucket filled. He felt better away from the heaviness that came from sickness in the house.

Gaius was filling his basket with the day’s rounds of medicine by the time Merlin got back. He’d already added more wood to the fire, so Merlin ladled water into the pot containing the remains of last night’s stew and left it to heat while he and Gaius splashed their faces and hands with the freezing water from the bucket.

“Try to get a little bit more water into our guest, will you, Merlin?” Gaius said.

Merlin sat down next to Arthur and felt his forehead. The heat was still rolling off him, so he re-wet the cloth and put it back on.

When he turned to reach for the pitcher of water, a hand reached out to close around his wrist.

Merlin definitely didn’t yelp, definitely not. He just didn’t expect a comatose sick boy to grab his wrist like that.

He looked down to see Arthur’s eyes open, blue irises nearly swallowed by blown pupils.

“Arthur?” he said cautiously. At first he had been discomforted by the direct stare, but it was becoming more and more apparent that Arthur wasn’t really seeing him. It was kind of creepy, frankly.

“Are you thirsty?” Merlin tried.

Arthur didn’t answer. His eyes roved over Merlin’s face, his fingers beginning to loosen on Merlin’s wrist.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin said, mostly just to have something to say. “Gaius is taking care of you. He’s the best physician in the five kingdoms.”

Four kingdoms, now. Merlin winced. Really great. “Uh, sorry. Anyway, he’s really good. So....” He trailed off. Arthur’s eyes had drifted shut and he let go of Merlin’s wrist with a sigh.

“Are you always this dramatic?” he asked the unconscious boy.

“What was that?” Gaius said from the other room.

“He woke up, kind of,” Merlin said. “Just looked at me. Didn’t say anything. He’s back to sleeping now, though.”

“Let us take that for a good sign,” Gaius said, appearing in the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag. “Come, Merlin, breakfast is ready.”

*

Sometime during the second night, Arthur’s fever broke. Gaius must have seen it and climbed back into bed to catch a few hours’ sleep, because he was gone when Merlin woke.

Merlin pushed himself up on one elbow and looked over at the bed. Arthur was asleep, but Merlin could tell by his more relaxed posture that the delirious tension of the last two days had bled out of him. His breathing looked steady and stronger, not quite so shallow and jerky, and his colour looked better.

He didn’t wake, though, while Gaius checked his bandages again. “Maybe it’s for the best, anyway,” Gaius said, looking pleased. The angry red color was fading from the edges of the wounds.

“Yeah,” Merlin said, thinking about what it would be like to wake up in a strange land as a slave to the man who had killed your father. “If I was him, I wouldn’t be in a hurry either.”

Cenred had caught his arm in the hallway on the way back from rounds yesterday and told him that whenever Arthur was strong enough to walk, he’d be expected to work.

“How’s Guinevere adapting to life as a maidservant?” Gaius asked.

“I haven’t seen her, she must be busy,” Merlin said. He missed her a bit. Gwen was funny, and she had a good head on her shoulders. For a girl.

“Gaius, is it true that Uther had a dragon beneath the castle?” he asked.

“Where on earth did you hear that?”

“Johnny the miller’s son said it was so. Said that Morgause cut it loose when they freed the castle.”

Gaius made a noncommittal noise.

“Where’s it gone? I thought it would be so grateful to Morgause for freeing it that it would come serve her.”

“Morgause isn’t a Dragornlord,” Gaius answered. “Dragons obey no other humans.”

“Rats,” Merlin said dreamily.

“Merlin, I truly hope that isn’t really longing I hear in your voice.”

“Wouldn’t it be amazing, Gaius? A real live dragon. They say they can fly...”

“Yes, and burn you to a crisp where you stand if the fancy strikes them,” Gaius said, exasperated. “Merlin, real dragons are cranky and angry and unpredictable, and they hold grudges for a long, long time. We’re better off now that it’s out in the wild where it belongs.”

It was market day, so Merlin followed Gaius down to the Lower Town with baskets and bags in tow for Gaius to collect the week’s worth of bread and ale and beans and a few stock bones for soup and, wonder of wonders, a chicken. It had been ages since they’d had a whole chicken, even an old hen that had barely survived the winter.

So Gaius expected Arthur to stay for a while, then. He guessed that was okay as long as it meant a Saturday feast of a chicken. Especially if Arthur would soon be well enough to get out of Merlin’s bed.

When they got back, Merlin shouldered the door open, his hands full of sacks of onions and beans. Then he saw the figure at the washbasin and stopped dead.

“Merlin, what on earth are you—” Gaius pushed past him and stopped too.

Arthur was on his feet, though swaying a bit, leaning heavily against the edge of the table under the window as he scrubbed furiously at his hands. The thick bar of smelly soap was substantially reduced from where Merlin remembered it.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Gaius commanded, recovering from the shock and striding forward.

Arthur ignored him.

“You’re barely off a bad fever, you shouldn’t be on your....”

Gaius trailed off, staring as Arthur kept feverishly scrubbing. Merlin followed cautiously until he, too, could see that Arthur was washing his hands, trying desperately to dig out the lines of his father’s dried blood crusted deep into the creases of his hands and buried under his fingernails.

“Arthur,” Gaius said softly.

The boy had torn off the splint and bandages around his broken right wrist to clean underneath them, Merlin saw. The skin on both arms was pink from scrubbing. Arthur continued to ignore both of them, his eyes fixed on his palms.

“Young prince,” Gaius said again. “You’re clean, I assure you. Let’s get you back to bed.”

No reply. Gaius leaned forward to put his hand on Arthur’s arm.

Arthur jerked, flinching forward out from under Gaius’s hands. “No, don’t,” he rasped. “I’ve got to—I’ve got to—”

“You’re fine,” Gaius said again, like he was talking to a horse, like the words mattered less than the tone. Arthur shied away, trying to keep scrubbing, but he continued. “You’re clean. You’ve been through a lot, but you’ll heal faster if you rest. And you don’t want to injure your wrist any further. I’m afraid it’s already begun to heal wrong, but a spell will fix that right up—”

“No!” Arthur said hoarsely. He finally turned to face them, backing away as far as he could, bumping into the edge of the table. For a second, Merlin wondered if the fever had come back, if he was delirious. But his eyes looked clear enough.

“What?” Gaius said. “It needs a straightening spell. It will be very quick...”

Arthur was shaking his head, looking like he was a hair’s breadth from passing out, clutching his wrist against his chest. “No—no—no—”

Gaius and Merlin shared a confused look.

“You’ll feel much better afterwards,” Gaius promised. He reached out and Arthur jerked backward again and almost fell.

“No _magic_ ,” Arthur spat, and Gaius reeled back, understanding lighting his eyes.

“Young prince,” he said slowly, “I understand your desire to honor your father’s memory. But if I don’t use magic to fix that wrist, you’ll never be able to hold a sword again.”

Silence stretched tight across the room. Arthur’s eyes widened as he took in Gaius’s words. For a moment, his mouth opened.

Then, “I _can’t_ ,” he whispered, and Merlin looked away, reread the titles of the books on Gaius’s shelves for the thousandth time, anything was better than watching Arthur’s face crumble like that, slowly and painfully.

“It’s the only logical choice,” Gaius said, and made one more attempt to reach for Arthur. The boy threw himself back against the wall with a cry and slid to the floor.

“Please,” Arthur said hoarsely, and Merlin looked quickly away again when he saw a tear slip down Arthur’s face. “Don’t.”

Gaius stopped.

“I won’t perform any magic on you without your permission, sire,” he said quietly, and Merlin wondered again at the term of respect. “You have my solemn promise.”

Arthur looked at him, hard, and then the boy hunched forward.

“My father,” he whispered.

“We know, young one,” Gaius said. He looked at Merlin, but Merlin didn’t know what to do, either.

Arthur made an audible attempt to swallow his tears, gulping hard, scrubbing his good hand across his eyes.

“Look, let’s just get you to bed, all right?” Merlin said finally.

Arthur looked directly at him for the first time. His eyes flicked over Merlin and for a long moment they just stared at each other. Then, slowly, Arthur dipped his head. Gaius let out a breath beside him.

Merlin put his shoulder under Arthur’s uninjured side and stabilized him up the two steps to the back room. Arthur sank alarmingly fast into bed.

Gaius hovered over him, and the boy didn’t say anything as Gaius’s hands checked his pulse, felt his forehead. But when the physician reached for his wrist, Arthur jerked it away with a hiss.

“I’m just going to splint it again,” Gaius said. “No magic. I promise.”

Arthur let him rewrap it and then he drank a mugful of water and then another one. Without the defiant flame in his eyes, he looked wrecked. The last of the bruising on his face had finished blooming and begun to turn green and yellow at the edges, and his cheeks were still hollow from sickness.

“Rest, young prince,” Gaius said. “We’ll get a bit of broth for you later.”

Arthur’s nod was barely perceptible as he faded mercifully quickly into sleep.

Merlin waited until they were back in the main quarters.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” he said.

Gaius looked at him. “Could it, now,” he said. “How, pray tell?”

“Well...”

Gaius sat down at the table with a sigh, scrubbing the palm of his hand against his eyes.

Merlin joined him. “What’s wrong, Gaius?”

“I fear...” Gaius mumbled, and shifted away from Merlin. “Nothing. It is my own burden to carry.”

Merlin was quiet a moment. “I’ll help him, Gaius.”

All he could see of Gaius was his back, which stilled.

“Thank you, Merlin,” he said.

“You helped me when I came here without a friend,” Merlin said, pulling out a chair and dropping down across from Gaius. “I just hope he doesn’t turn out to be too much a prat. Dunno what I’ve got myself into.”

One corner of Gaius’s mouth quirked. “If he’s anything like Uther: arrogant. Rash. Violent...”

“Oh, goody.”

“And thoughtless.”

“Remind me again why you used to like Uther?”

*

When they got home from evening rounds, Merlin could have located the door by smell alone: the chicken they’d left to simmer on the coals smelled heavenly. His mouth watered and he stood attentively over Gaius’s shoulder as Gaius opened the lid to the pot and released an aromatic whiff of steam.

“She’s just about done,” Gaius said, looking pleased. “Check on Arthur, would you?”

Merlin stuck his head into his room and saw that Arthur’s eyes were open.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Merlin said. “Want some dinner?”

Arthur didn’t even look at him. He just kept lying there on his side, staring dully at the wall.

Merlin took a few steps closer. “Hello? Earth to Arthur, your ears aren’t damaged, are they? You were hearing us fine earlier.”

“What’s the trouble here?” Gaius said, appearing at the doorway.

“He’s awake, but he’s not saying anything,” Merlin said.

“Young prince,” Gaius said, “we have some broth if you’d like. You’ll need it to keep up your strength.”

Still no response.

“You obviously hear us,” Merlin said. “And you can smell dinner. Do you want some or what?”

“Merlin!” Gaius said.

“Fine,” Merlin said. “More for me.”

He went back down to the chambers and helped himself to chicken stew. Gaius came back a minute or two later, looking worried.

“He’ll eat if he’s hungry, Gaius.”

“He needs to eat or he’ll fall prey to illness again,” Gaius said, filling his own bowl. “I’ll bring him some bread later.”

“He’ll be fine.” Merlin passed him the jug of ale. “He’s just being stubborn.”

“He’s heartsick, Merlin,” Gaius said. “He’s lost his kingdom and his only kin in the space of a fortnight.”

This was true, and he still thought Arthur was still being stubborn on purpose it made Merlin feel bad enough that silence fell while they both ate. When he had scraped the last remnants from the bowl, he cleaned the dishes while Gaius banked the fire for the night. Merlin sighed as he felt a draft from the window. It looked to be another rainy cold night.

When he went back to his room, Arthur was still lying there in his bed like a stubborn lump.

“All right,” Merlin said. “You don’t have to talk to me, but as I’ve been sleeping on the floor for three nights, and you’re clearly feeling better, I’d like my bed back. That is my bed you’ve been sleeping on.”

Nothing.

“I’m not joking,” Merlin said. “You can sleep here, there’s a bed all made up and everything, but my back’s going to seize up if I spend another night on the floor.”

After a moment, Arthur got stiffly out of bed, shirtless but for his bandages—Merlin felt a little bad—and shuffled past him to lower himself gingerly onto the floor atop the pile of blankets.

“Thank you,” Merlin said. Then he said, awkwardly, “Do you, er, want to borrow a shirt of mine? In case you get cold.”

No response. Merlin dug an old, coarsely woven blue shirt out of his trunk and set it down next to Arthur. After a moment, Arthur reached out to take it, still avoiding Merlin’s eyes.

“Whatever.” Merlin sank down into his own bed with a delighted groan. It felt so good after three days on the floor that he almost wept, and with his stomach full of chicken...if he still felt a little guilty over kicking Arthur out, it didn’t trouble his sleep that night.

*

“Try it again,” Morgause commanded.

“I can’t!” Morgana said, a whine threading into her voice. “I’ve tried four times already, Morgause!”

“You can,” Morgause said, those steely dark eyes fixed on Morgana. For the first time, Morgana began to see why everyone in the castle seemed to tiptoe around her.

She turned her attention once more to the candle in front of her, rebellious thoughts running through her mind.

“ _Tyfu_ ,” she said.

The candle guttered a bit. They both stared at it.

“Sorry for the draft, my lady,” Gwen said, poking her head around the corner. “Just opened the window to air this wardrobe out a bit.”

Morgana sighed.

“Again. Enunciate,” Morgause said.

“Ty-fu,” Morgana said. The candle stubbornly refused to react.

Morgause leaned forward. “Tyfu,” she whispered, and Morgana watched as the rings of gold flared in her eyes and the candle shot a stream of flame upward. Wax streamed down the sides.

“I’m just not like you!” Morgana said, frustrated. “Maybe the only magic I’ll ever have is dreams!”

“You have it in you, sister,” Morgause said firmly. “I can feel the power in you. It’s just waiting to be channeled. You must practice.” Her sister got up in a swish of black and red fabric. “At least twenty more rounds tonight.”

“All right,” Morgana said sullenly.

“I mean it,” Morgause said. “I’ll be able to tell if you don’t. Good night, sister. Sleep well,” she added a bit more tenderly, brushing a strand of hair from Morgana’s cheek as she passed.

Gwen came in, carrying a pile of fresh sheets.

“There’s no way I’m doing twenty more rounds of this,” Morgana said flatly.

Gwen giggled.

“It does look a bit...repetitive,” she ventured.

“It’s bloody useless, that’s what it is,” Morgana said. “Doing this twenty more times isn’t going to cure the fact that I can’t do it at all. Morgause is going to be so disappointed when she figures that out.”

Gwen looked sympathetic. “I think, milady,” she said, “she cares deeply for you. She wouldn’t drive you so hard if she didn’t.”

“You’re quite wise, you know that,” Morgana said, twisting to look at Gwen as she turned down the bedclothes.

Gwen dipped her head. “My father is the same with my brother,” she said. “He’s always worried more about my brother, so he’s harsher with him. It doesn’t make my brother feel better, but I hope he sees it someday.”

“Thank you, Gwen,” Morgana said. “Tell me. Is everyone so terrified of my sister as they seem?”

Gwen froze, eyes darting over to her. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell her,” Morgana said, waving her hand. “I’m just curious what she’s like. I’m still learning so much.”

“She’s,” Gwen hesitated, “she’s powerful, and that makes people nervous. And, well...”

“What?”

“She’s a woman,” Gwen said. “There’s still them as say women have a deeper connection with the old religion, and the memories of the old priestesses still strike fear.”

“Yes,” Morgana murmured. “I heard some of the stories when I was a child, before my father died. They spoke of Nimue, even the Fates.”

“Those, and others,” Gwen said. “The old religion used to have women as its most powerful guardians. Their judgement was fair, but harsh. Those days are gone, but some of the folk in town wonder if Morgause wants to bring them back to the world again.”

Morgana stared at the candle. Gwen bit her lip. “I’m sorry if I...spoke too freely, my lady.”

“Not at all,” her mistress said, shaking her head. “You never have to worry about that with me, Gwen. I promise. Could you bring my nightdress?”

“Of course.”

*

Merlin was startled awake the next morning by a heavy fist pounding on the door to the physician’s quarters.

“I’m coming,” Gaius called from his own room, and he heard Gaius shuffling around to put on a robe over his nightdress.

Merlin sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. Sometimes they got called out early in the morning for sicknesses that had come on overnight, but he could tell from the angle of the light that it was no longer sunrise. Surely an illness this urgent would have been discovered already.

“Sire,” he heard Gaius say in guarded surprise, and his tone put Merlin on alert. He swung his legs out of bed.

“Where’s the Pendragon brat, Gaius? Cenred says he's to start his new privy duties today,” a deep, masculine voice answered, bringing Merlin fully awake. He looked over and saw that Arthur was awake too, struggling to his feet, his splinted wrist hampering his balance.

“He’s still recovering, sire,” Gaius said. “He really needs another day at least of full rest—”

The door to his room banged open and the knight Gareth stepped in, gigantic, red-bearded, half dressed in his chain mail already. Merlin ducked his head quickly in a gesture of respect. Not all knights demanded this, but Gareth did.

No such gesture from Arthur, who stood, barefoot, dressed in his ragged, bloodstained trousers and Merlin’s shirt, glaring at Gareth.

“Ah, here’s the whelp,” Gareth said. “Guess you made it after all. You still look like a sack of shit, but at least that’s better off than your father, eh?” He laughed, harshly.

Arthur curled his lip. Gaius appeared in the doorway, his face taut with worry.

“Aw, a little sore about that still?” Gareth teased. He stepped toward Arthur, his heavy boots clinking on the stone floor. “Long live the king.” He spat to the side.

Merlin bristled at the spit in his chambers, but Arthur widened his stance and snarled at Gareth, his bad right hand going to his side for a nonexistent sword.

“You’d better learn respect,” Gareth said. “You’re not a prince anymore, after all. Just another slave in Cenred’s castle.”

“Hey!” Merlin said. “He’s still healing—you—”

Gareth rounded on him, and he, Gaius, and Arthur all stared at Merlin. Merlin was probably more surprised than any of them, though. “You, er, wouldn’t want to harm him or else he won’t be much good for work,” he finished lamely.

Gareth’s arm shot out and he clamped a huge, gloved hand around Merlin’s neck. Merlin gasped for breath as Gareth looked him over slowly, the lazy, dangerous look back in his eye. “Are you volunteering to take his place, brat?”

“Let him go!” Arthur said. “He’s just a stupid physician’s apprentice. I’m the one you want.” He bared his teeth in an angry smile.

“Indeed,” Gareth said. He dropped Merlin, stepped back, and yanked Arthur forward by the front of Merlin’s shirt. “They’re expecting you down in the privies.”

He shoved Arthur forward.

Gaius stepped aside to let them pass, Arthur’s back stiff and straight and Gareth huge and unconcerned.

“My liege,” Gaius said hesitantly. “If Cenred wants him in good shape for work, it would be my recommendation that—”

“Cenred gave me my orders this morning,” Gareth said. “Doesn’t look to me like he cares about your recommendation. Goodbye, doc.”

Then they were both out the door, which banged shut.

Merlin and Gaius looked at each other, Merlin rubbing his neck where Gareth's fingers were sure to leave marks.

“Oh dear,” Gaius said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chap: Things get worse before they get better for the newest addition to Cenred's household; Gaius makes a bargain; Merlin seduces the laadiez.
> 
> Concrit is love! :D


	4. Favors

Arthur did not come back to the physician’s quarters. Gaius’s eyebrows beetled together as he and Merlin ate a quiet dinner and washed the dishes.

*

Arthur was scrubbing the floors in the Great Hall, left-handed, when Cenred came back. He heard the shouting and the clip-clop of hooves across cobblestones, but it didn’t really register until the doors burst open and a pair of leather boots, inlaid with the angular foreign insignia of Essetir, came to rest in front of him.

“Ah, my slave is finally off his lazy arse,” Cenred said.

Arthur’s head jerked up and as he looked up into the smirking, stubbled face of the man who had slit his father’s throat, a gust of white, pleasingly narcotic hatred burst behind his eyes.

“The house of Camelot scrubbing my floors,” Cenred said lazily. “Finally, where it belongs at last.”

Arthur snarled, caught on his hands and knees in front of his father’s killer, tried to scramble up but lurched off-balance as he tried to heave himself up one-handed. He heard the scrape of metal as Cenred unsheathed his sword and looked up to find its point at his neck.

“Careful,” Cenred said. “You lose your temper, and the line of Pendragon ends here. I wouldn’t mind it, believe me.”

Arthur swallowed, the fountain of anger boiling out his eyes and nose, but he forced his hands shut around the soapy brush.

“Better.” Cenred smiled at him, all canines. He moved the sword, and Arthur had to tilt his head back to avoid its point. “I expect obedience from my slaves.”

“I will not serve a murderer,” Arthur forced out.

“I am no murderer, Arthur Pendragon,” Cenred said, bringing his face very close to Arthur’s ear. Arthur tried to lean further back, so far that his spine began to cramp, but stopped when the steel touched his neck. “Listen to me. What I did was blood payment taken for my niece’s blood. You know that as well as I do.” 

“ _Arthur?!_ ”

Startled, Cenred pulled his sword away. Arthur’s head fell forward and he looked sideways to see Morgana at the door to the Hall. She was finely dressed in dark blue and white silk and her mouth was open.

“Morgana?” he said hoarsely.

“I thought you were dead!” she said, and she started to run towards him, picking up her skirts as she ran. He struggled to his feet.

“I thought _you_ were dead!” Arthur said, and she threw her arms around him in a way she hadn’t done since they were much younger.

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured against his shoulder.

He held her, breathing in Morgana’s familiar scent. It was the first familiar smell in ages, and it made him suddenly, horribly homesick.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” he said. “I thought....I didn’t know you made it out of the castle.”

“Morgause saved me,” she said. “Arthur, you’ll never believe it. I have a sister! And she—” Morgana stopped. “Where have you been?” she demanded, pulling back to look at him. “You’re filthy, and skinny as a rail. And why are you dressed like that? What were you—what?” she looked back to Cenred, standing awkwardly a few paces away, his sword dangling at his side.

Arthur held her arms and didn’t say anything.

“Have you been here all this—were you—“

Cenred, incredibly, raised a hand to the back of his neck. “My lady,” he began.

“What is going on here?” Morgana said, color beginning to flush her cheeks.

“Sister,” came a voice from the doorway Morgana had come from. Arthur looked over Morgana’s shoulder to see a tall woman with curling blond hair. He stepped backward, hissing. He knew that face.

“You!” he said. “I saw you in the battle. You were with Cenred. You commanded the white soldiers. The ones that would never fall. You’re Cenred’s sorceress!”

The woman did not react. She was looking at Morgana. Morgana’s fists were clenching as she began to put things together.

“Morgause, did you know? Did you know Arthur was here?” she demanded.

“I knew, sister,” Morgause said, walking toward them. She was clad in a long silver and red dress. She looked very different from the last time Arthur saw her: in chain mail and finely worked armor, face darkened by the soot, shouting incantations as her undead soldiers cut down his father’s men.

“Don’t come any closer!” Arthur warned. Everyone ignored him.

“Then you lied to me!” Morgana said.

“We never said anything about Arthur,” Cenred interjected.

Both women speared him with withering glares. “Shut up, Cenred,” Morgause said calmly, at the same time that Morgana said, “That’s the same as lying!”

“Why, sister?” Arthur knew that look in Morgana’s eyes. She was just getting worked up. She never backed off from anything once she got this mad.

Morgause stopped a few paces away, opposite Cenred. “I was going to tell you, Morgana,” she said. “Once you’d settled in.”

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

“I don’t lie.” Morgause’s eyes flashed silver.

“I don’t know what you do and don’t do! I don’t know you at all! All I know is that you had my—my family—here in the castle and didn’t tell me!”

For the first time, a crack appeared in Morgause’s composed facade as her lips parted. “ _I_ am your family,” she said. “Your _only_ family.”

Morgana flung out her hand at Arthur. “Arthur’s my family too! Uther raised us practically as brother and sister. I’ve known him a lot longer than I’ve known either of you!”

At the mention of Uther, Arthur’s stomach twisted.

“Morgana,” he said brokenly. “My father—”

Morgana looked at him, and her face began to fall. “I know, Arthur,” she said.

“Cenred killed him,” Arthur said. “I was there. He—”

_He cut my father’s throat,_ the words rose, _he killed him while he hung helpless in chains and watched him choke on his own blood,_ they wouldn’t move past the lump in his throat.

Morgana looked so sad that he couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. He stared at the floor.

Into this silence, Morgause said, “Sister. Please believe that I did not mean to hurt you.”

“Then you failed,” he heard Morgana say bitingly.

“How can I prove that to you?”

“You can start,” Morgana said, “by getting Arthur out of those rags and into some clothes. He’s a prince, he’s not--”

“He’s not a prince anymore,” Cenred said. “He hasn’t got a kingdom, has he?” He moved, finally, sheathing his sword.

Morgause’s mouth thinned. Morgana’s fell open.

“What are you saying?”

“He’s a slave,” Cenred said firmly. “We conquered his kingdom. He’s mine to do with as I please.”

“No. No.” Morgana shook her head.

“It’s an old rule of war, sister,” Morgause said.

“Then I am a slave too!” Morgana snapped. “After all, I was part of that ruling house, raised as Uther’s, same as Arthur!”

“You were raised by Uther, but you were not his,” Morgause said. “You are of our house, not his.”

“I don’t see the difference,” Morgana said coldly.

Cenred, beginning to shift back and forth on his feet, rolled his eyes. “That’s how it is, Morgana,” he said. “Take it or leave it. But the boy’s a slave in this castle and that’s not up for discussion.” He started for the door.

“No!” Morgana shrieked. “You can’t!”

If it had been Uther, he would have stopped. Uther loved Morgana more than anything, and he hardly ever denied her.

Cenred didn’t look back.

“Sister!” Morgana rounded on Morgause. “You can’t let him carry on with this! Arthur’s practically my brother. He’s no slave!”

“Cenred won’t budge on this, Morgana. I am sorry,” Morgause said a bit more gently. “That’s the way things are.”

“How can I live in this house wearing fine silks while my family is in chains?” Morgana said desperately, though Arthur thought, with an uncomfortable flash of insight, that she was perhaps asking herself the question at the same time.

“He’s not your family. I am,” Morgause said. “And that’s how the world works. It isn’t fair, sister. The sooner you learn that, the easier you’ll have it. Come on. We have to get to practice with Hildred.”

Morgana did not take her sister’s hand, but turned to Arthur instead and wrapped him in a hug. “I’ll get you out of this,” she whispered. “I promise.”

“Stay safe, Morgana,” he told her quietly. “Don’t do anything that would put you in danger. My father would never, ever want that. Not even for my sake.”

When she pulled back, he could see angry tears glimmering in her eyes. “Don’t worry about me,” she said, and squeezed his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

*

They saw Arthur only a few times over the next two days. Every time he looked more ragged, pale under smudges of dirt, carrying heavy cords of wood for the fire. Word went like lightning around the castle servants that the prince of Camelot was now a slave in the household, and as Merlin went about his chores he heard whispering everywhere.

“Why doesn’t he run?” Merlin said. They had just passed Arthur struggling up the stairs the other way with a load of firewood. He had avoided their gazes and ignored Gaius’s call.

“Where would he run to?”

Merlin thought. Uther had many enemies, and now that he was dead and his kingdom conquered, even his friends had little to gain from shielding a Pendragon prince and much to lose.

“That’s a bit sad,” he said.

“Indeed,” Gaius said.

They paused at the door to the council room. Cenred had called Gaius for his counsel. "I wonder what this is about," Merlin said.

"I haven't the faintest idea." Gaius pushed open the doors.

Cenred and Elinor were deep in conversation, poring over several old maps laid out over the table. "Ah, Gaius," Cenred said, motioning them in.

"Your majesty," Gaius bowed, and Merlin repeated the action.

"I called you here to ask you about Camelot again. Your advice with the invasion proved most helpful." Cenred leaned back, crossing his legs.

Merlin froze, his eyes darting to Gaius. He hadn't known that.

"I am glad to serve my lord," Gaius said, neutrally, Merlin thought.

"Then tell me. How would its citizens react to having a woman as their leader?" Cenred nodded at Elinor. "I think on installing Elinor as the steward of Camelot."

Gaius considered, his hands clasped behind his back. "After a violent overthrow, the citizens will always be wary of the new leader," he said after a moment, "and—if you will pardon me, my lady—some may see her as weak because she is a woman. On the other hand, a woman's touch may be the soothing balm they need after the violent overthrow of Uther."

"How many years did the house of Pendragon rule over Camelot?" Elinor asked.

"Many, my lady. I know it was at least three kings before Uther. Beyond that, I cannot be sure."

"Some kingdoms react badly to new rulers after a certain house has ruled them for so many years," she said.

"Indeed. However, Uther's ban on magic angered many in the kingdom," Gaius said. "That will sour his memory. I think that lifting that ban, and the harsh penalties that came with it, will help persuade many hearts and minds."

"That's true. I know a lot of sorcerers and witches who left during Uther's reign, and will be back," Elinor said.

"I believe that Camelot's citizens will respond to a strong hand, and I believe milady can give it," Gaius said.

"As do I." Cenred smiled. "Thank you, Gaius. If you are ever in need of a favor, you may ask."

Merlin blinked. A favor from a king was a rich reward indeed.

Gaius hesitated. “If your highness would allow it,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind having an extra hand in my duties.”

Cenred looked at Gaius curiously. Gaius returned the gaze.

“You need two assistants?”

“I could use help with cleaning, sire,” Gaius said. “Merlin is getting better with mixing potions. The demand for draughts has picked up considerably in the past few months, and I anticipate the long winter we had will bring a fine crop of summer pregnancies. So we could use someone to keep up with the cleaning and labor.”

"Ah. You need a maid? Elinor will be departing, perhaps her old maidservant will do?"

"Someone young and strong would be best, my lord," Gaius said. "We require a lot of firewood for brewing potions, and lifting and carrying patients."

He spread his hands. "Perhaps the new slave, Uther's boy?"

Silence hung in the council room for a moment.

Beside Cenred, Elinor leaned forward, steepling her hands together. “Does my memory fail me, Gaius,” she said, “or were you not Uther's personal physician before you joined us?”

“I did, milady,” Gaius said. “Your memory is excellent, as always.” He bowed a little. “You may also remember that I fled the kingdom when Uther outlawed magic.”

Cenred snorted. Elinor’s pale, sharp gaze still rested on Gaius.

“But perhaps you still harbor some loyalty for him, that you wish to protect his kin,” she said.

Gaius shook his head. “Uther deserves no loyalty. He made a fatal error by outlawing magic.”

“That was just the beginning of his errors,” Cenred corrected. He leaned back in his chair. "Morgana has been complaining ceaselessly about Arthur. Perhaps that would please her."

And by extension, Morgause. Everyone in the castle knew he lusted after her.

“I suppose you can keep the boy, if you want him,” Cenred said, waving his hand. “I don’t expect a prince will be worth the trouble as a housekeeper, but you can always send him to me if he needs a lesson.”

Elinor cast a critical glance sideways, but did not comment further.

"And he'll still have to earn his keep in addition to your chores, Gaius," Cenred said. "Send him down to Giraud in the stables. He's been complaining that he doesn't have enough help for all the new horses we won in battle."

“Most certainly I will, your majesty.” Gaius bowed, and Merlin escaped with him.

"The king’s favor, and that's what you spent it on?" Merlin said incredulously, as soon as they were out of earshot.

Gaius sighed. "An old man like me doesn't need many favors, Merlin," he said. "If it be spent in service to a friend I helped overthrow, all the better."

"I didn't know," Merlin said. "That...that you helped."

"How could I refuse my king?" Gaius always looked old, but for a moment he looked ancient to Merlin, his face lined and eyes tired. "Pray do me a favor and don't mention that to Arthur."

"I wouldn't," Merlin said.

"Good boy."

*

Just as Merlin and Gaius were finishing a late supper, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," Gaius called.

Arthur opened the door, but didn’t come all the way in, balancing uneasily on the sill. He was still dressed in the same blue tunic Merlin had lent him days ago, now filthy and torn. "They said, in the kitchens, that I was to stay with you tonight," Arthur said.

"Indeed, my boy, tonight and as long as you care to stay," Gaius said. "The king has agreed that you can stay with us in exchange for helping me with a few small tasks."

Arthur looked as though he didn't quite know how to react. "Oh."

"Thank him, dummy," Merlin said. "This means you get to eat and sleep with us. It's not much, but we do have regular meals, and living with Gaius means he has all the best poisons to kill the rats."

"Oh. Er, thank you," Arthur said. He started to step in, but stopped. “I never asked your names,” he said, haltingly.

“My name is Gaius,” said Gaius. “The king’s physician, at your service.”

“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur said. “I...won’t forget your kindness.”

“Merlin,” Merlin said, pointing at himself. “Physician’s assistant. And I help clean, too."

"Have you eaten yet, Arthur?" Gaius said kindly. Arthur shook his head, looking hungrily at the bread. “Sit down, then.”

Suspiciously, as though expecting a trick, Arthur sat down on the bench next to Merlin.

“We don’t have a third bowl, as it’s usually just Merlin and myself, so you can use mine,” Gaius said, handing over his mostly-empty bowl. “Tomorrow I’ll send Merlin down to market to buy us another.” He ladled a generous helping of stew into the bowl, Arthur’s eyes following the movement.

Watching Arthur attack the food, Merlin considered it a great mark of maturity that he did not say anything about the meal Arthur had refused several nights before. He also did not say anything about how Arthur smelled, either.

Maybe he really was growing up, like Gaius said.

After they had both finished—Arthur put away an astounding amount of stew—Merlin did the dishes while Arthur pulled off the dirty shirt and let Gaius poke and prod his back. The lash marks were mending well enough, but Merlin could see that Arthur had lost weight, even in the few days since he had stayed with them. The pink healing skin slid over the bones in his spine.

Arthur barely stayed awake for the examination, his head dipping further and further forward. He roused a little, suspiciously, when Gaius picked up his wrist, but Gaius did nothing more than sigh and rewrap it.

“Let’s get you off to bed, then. I’m sorry we don’t have a bed for you yet, but we’ll get one.”

When Merlin came back to his (their?) room after banking the fire, Arthur was already asleep.

And snoring.

Excellent.

*

Of course Merlin had to show Arthur the way to the stables the next morning, so he had to get up before dawn too. First Arthur put up a fuss about his clothes. Merlin had offered him another of his shirts, but he didn’t have that many, and this one happened to have a hole in the armpit. It had also been a bit too narrow in the shoulders for Arthur, but whatever, it was better than going round naked, isn’t it?

Arthur held out his arms in response. The sleeves stopped short of his wrists.

Oh yeah, that was also why Merlin had stopped wearing that shirt. “I don’t have another one,” he said. “We’re not royalty, it’s not like we have a whole fine wardrobe to choose from here.”

That shut Arthur's mouth.

Merlin yawned as they went down the narrow stairway and through the Great Hall. It was too early even for the servants to have lit the fires in the Hall, and their breath puffed in the early spring chill.

“You’re going to have to be careful,” Merlin said as they picked their way across the darkened yard, barely lit by the approaching glow of the sun to the east. “Girard’s the biggest bully in the castle, I’m sure that’s why Cenred wants you to work for him. He loves those horses more than any person. He’ll scream bloody murder if he sees you look at one wrong, let alone saddle it too tight or leave a horse without brushing him down.”

Arthur snorted. “I’ve been around horses my whole life. I know how to saddle them.”

Merlin shrugged. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He left Arthur at the entrance to the stables, thinking it would be a miracle if Arthur and his smart mouth survived the first hour.

The pre-dawn waking wasn’t a total loss. As Merlin rounded the corner on the second floor east corridor, he saw a figure leaning out one of the windows. As he got closer, he recognized, with a start, the slim figure of the Lady Morgana in a long green cloak.

“My lady,” he bowed slightly as he came hesitantly closer.

“Oh!” Morgana said, turning to face him. Her cheeks were prettily reddened from the cold. “You startled me. I didn’t think anyone was awake yet.”

“We servants do like to get up to see the dawn,” Merlin joked.

She startled him by laughing. “I apologize. I’m sure you do.” She looked more closely at him. “Have we met?”

“My name is Merlin,” he said, bowing again, because it seemed like the thing to do, though he had just bowed a minute earlier. Well great, she probably thought him a simpleton. “I’m Gaius’s assistant. The physician.”

“That’s right!” Morgana said. “Well Merlin, I hope you don’t mind if I share this dawn this morning.”

“Not at all,” Merlin said. “It’s a particularly fine one.”

She turned her head to look out at the sunrise, rays laying over the treetops lit with pink light. “Indeed. Though I fear I shall never get used to the chill so far north.”

Merlin held his tongue a moment, then decided to throw caution out the door. “Pardon me if this is rude, my lady,” he said, “but...when Gaius and I visited after your night terror. He asked you if you...had magic.”

She looked sharply at him, her eyes brilliant green in the morning light, each eyelash outlined against her skin like the thinnest of ink strokes. “What?”

Merlin hesitated once more, then blew out a breath. As the puff of humidity condensed in the chilly air, he whispered a word, and it shaped itself into a dragon.

Morgana drew in a startled breath.

He looked sideways at her, cautiously, to see her eyes lit with fascination. “You have magic too,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said. “Since I was born.”

“I think I do too,” Morgana said in a low voice. “I didn’t know, until Morgause told me, that my dreams were magic...I had never thought....” Her eyes followed the dragon until it dissipated in the weak sunlight.

“You don’t have to be ashamed to admit it, here,” Merlin said, his voice getting stronger. “You can be who you are.”

“That’s what Morgause says. It still feels so foreign to me.”

“Well, if I may be so bold, my lady, I would be happy to listen if you ever wanted to talk about it,” Merlin said. “If it pleases you,” he added hastily. “Not that I am implying I am a better confidant than your sister. Or that you need it. Or that—”

Morgana held up a hand, an amused twitch at the corner of her (full, red) lips. “I am grateful for your offer, Merlin,” she said gravely. “It is good to know one has friends in a strange new castle.”

Merlin was helpless to stop a goofy smile spreading across his face. “I hope it won’t be strange for long,” he said, and bowed. “I should get back to Gaius.”

“Goodbye, Merlin,” Morgana said. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You as well, my lady,” Merlin said. On impulse, he pulled a string off the edge of his tunic, brought it close to his mouth, and blew on it. Out of his hand fluttered a little blue butterfly.

Morgana clapped her hands in amusement. “Oh!”

He stood there grinning stupidly at her for a second until he remembered to make a dramatic exit. Then he tripped over his own legs when he turned to go.

Maybe the butterfly trick canceled that out, he thought hopefully, the blush in his cheeks transforming into a full-fledged flaming red face as he ran up the second stairway towards Gaius’s quarters, taking the steps two at a time.

“What are you grinning about,” Gaius said when he burst into the chambers. He reached out to feel Merlin’s forehead as he went by. “Why are you so flushed?”

Merlin shook off his hand. “I’m fine! Better than fine!” he called, bounding up the steps to his room.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Merlin jumped back down with Gaius’s oldest magic book in his arms. “I just ran into the Lady Morgana,” he said. “She’s got magic, Gaius!”

When he looked up, a faint line had appeared between Gaius’s eyebrows. “What have you been doing, Merlin,” he said guardedly.

“Just helping her feel at home!” Merlin said. “She’s got a lot to adjust to. I just showed her a trick or two to cheer her up.”

“What did you do?” Gaius demanded.

“Just little stuff,” Merlin said, waving a hand dismissively. He opened the book and flipped through to the back. “Shaped some mist, made a butterfly.”

“Transforming things isn’t so little, Merlin.”

“Oh Gaius, stop being such a worrywart. The Lady Morgana’s perfectly lovely.” His eyes wandered off the page. “Beautiful, really...”

The lines in Gaius’s face began to smooth into amusement as he looked at Merlin. Merlin looked up.

“Stop it, Gaius.”

Gaius’s smile grew into a full grin.

“I mean it. Stop it. The Lady Morgana’s...”

“She is a lady, Merlin. Don’t forget that.”

“As if I could,” Merlin muttered. He flipped a page and traced a spell with his finger.

“Wiser men than you have followed their hearts into trouble,” Gaius said, but he could tell that Merlin wasn’t really listening anymore. He huffed. “Boys.”

*

It was past sundown when Arthur dragged himself into their quarters. He was splattered head to toe in muck. Only his eyes blinked, startlingly white and blue, against the mud.

Merlin tried really hard to stifle his laugh. He really did. It was more like a giggle-snort.

Arthur glared at him, but he clearly lacked the energy to really put any force behind it.

“How was Giraud?” Merlin said.

“This being a servant lot is shite,” Arthur said. He started to sink into a chair, but Gaius said hastily, “Clean up first!”

Arthur stopped, looking so miserable that Merlin actually did choke down the second laugh. He dragged himself, rather dramatically, over to the washbasin and contemplated it a moment. Then he stuck his entire head in.

“That’s a start,” Merlin said.

“You’ll have to empty and refill that at the well when you’re done, Arthur,” Gaius said mildly. When Arthur turned to stare at him disbelievingly, rivulets of filthy water sluicing down his face and shoulders, Gaius said, “We’ll need clean water to wash and for breakfast in the morning.”

They both pretended not to hear Arthur’s obnoxiously loud sigh.

“It can wait until after dinner,” Gaius said. “Go ahead and change.”

The clearly audible grumblings trailed Arthur into the back room to strip out of Merlin’s mud-drenched tunic and breeches.

When he returned, in Merlin’s only other shirt, hair still dripping onto his shoulders, Gaius had already ladled a generous portion of soup into a newly purchased third bowl for him. The soup was a bit thin today. Merlin had looked in Gaius’s purse when the old man was changing. After buying all this new stuff, they were down to a last few coins.

Arthur looked skeptically at the food, and Merlin itched to smack him, not for the first or last time even in the last five minutes.

Arthur brought the edge of the bowl cautiously to his mouth and sipped a little bit. Then he blinked and tipped it further back.

“This is really good,” he said, clearly surprised, and picked up the bowl, a bit awkwardly, with both hands to drain it. Gaius, a tiny smile quirking the edges of his mouth, poured him a second one.

Arthur finished that too, but eyelids began to droop halfway through.

“Don’t forget to get more water before you go to bed,” Gaius warned.

Arthur groaned, pushed his chair back, and hefted the washbasin with his good hand. He disappeared out the door, leaving behind a trail of drops of dirty water on the floor where the water slopped out of the bucket. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Gaius said. “We’ll make a proper servant out of this prince yet.”

“Does he really not see what he’s doing, making a mess like that,” Merlin said.

“He’s never had to see it.”

“He will now,” Merlin said. “Giraud told me he’s due for scrubbing the privies tomorrow.”

They both winced.

“Better bring an extra bucket of washwater up tomorrow.”

*

“Giraud’s the worst, easy. He doesn’t need a reason to be mad at you. But you already knew that. Then there’s Sir Gareth, your red-headed knight friend.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, a gesture Merlin was starting to recognize as a favorite. He dangled his legs over the side of the castle. It was a fine day, the first really warm day of spring. They were perched on top of the second-highest turret, a place Merlin came to whenever he had a free moment between chores and wanted to see how far he could see across the land.

“And you probably met Cook, she runs the kitchens, big lady, birthmark on her right cheek?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s all right except when there’s a feast and things get behind schedule, then watch her wooden spoon.”

Arthur picked up a twig and jabbed it between the stones of the wall until it snapped. “Scared of the cook, huh?”

“You should be too, if you know what’s good for you. I’ve seen her pick up a full-grown boar carcass. She’s no joke.”

“I bet you can’t even pick up a sword the right way.”

“What, and you could, with your wrist all ganked like that?” Merlin said, irritated.

Arthur’s head snapped up and he glared. “I could do it with my left hand. And I could probably still beat you.”

Merlin threw up his hands. “Why would I even want to pick up a sword? Swords only do evil, never any good.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You just use them to kill people! You can’t use them to plow, or cook, or do anything useful that isn’t killing people.”

“Yes, but you have to use it against bad people!” Arthur said.

“That just makes it worse,” Merlin said. There’s always a better answer than killing somebody.”

“What if that person is evil? What if he just burned down a whole village and killed a bunch of other people and he’s threatening to kill more people.”

“Nobody’s pure evil,” Merlin said. “There’s always some other solution.”

Arthur snorted. “That’s just stupid. Sometimes there are bad people and they are going to be bad until the day they die, which will be sooner because I know how to use a sword.”

“Well goody for you.” Merlin kicked a pebble off the side, watched it tumble down until it disappeared from view into the stable yard.

“I hope it hits Giraud,” Arthur muttered.

Merlin couldn’t argue with that. “Want to see if we can hit the guard-tower from here?”

“I bet I can,” Arthur said, reaching for a pebble, “and I bet you can’t.”

“Prove it, o princeliest of prats.”

*

Sunday was wet and dreary again, and even Giraud ran out of things to give Arthur to do, so they stayed indoors, lounging and comparing scars and bickering until Gaius put down his book, cleared his throat, and said, “The leech tank needs cleaning.”

“Again?” Merlin said. “I just cleaned it last month!”

“It’s getting warmer, Merlin. You know how much more quickly it clouds over in the heat.”

“Ugh,” Merlin said, going over to get the bucket and brush from the corner. Arthur smirked until Gaius pulled a bucket out from beneath the table and said, “And you, Arthur, I need all these slugs quartered and tacked out to dry.”

Arthur leaned over to look in the bucket. “You can’t be serious.”

Gaius stared him down.

“Fine,” Arthur grumped.

“Use the serrated knife, it’s much easier,” Merlin advised, rolling up his sleeves.

“These are so foul,” Arthur moaned, pulling a slug out of the bucket and dropping it back in with a plop.

“They have to be cut the right way. There are very precise instructions,” Gaius said. “They are directions in the _Compendium of Colick Draughts_.”

“Where’s that?”

“I think it’s in my room,” Merlin said. “In one of the stacks.”

“That’s specific,” Arthur said, getting up.

“I think we know which one of us got the easy job here,” Merlin grunted, picking out the top layer of leeches gingerly, one black creature held between thumb and forefinger. “At least yours are dead already.”

The leech waved slowly in the air, hoping to latch on to Merlin’s sweet, sweet skin. Not if Merlin had anything to say about it. “Gaius, hand me that bowl, would you?”

There was no answer. Merlin looked over his shoulder. Gaius had gone back into his room.

“Fine.” His hands covered in filthy green water, Merlin whispered a few words and felt the satisfying rush of power call to the bowl from the basin in the corner. The bowl sailed through the air and landed on the counter next to him. He dropped the leech in.

Behind him, there was a loud crash.

Merlin jumped and turned around. Arthur stood at the door to the bedroom, staring at Merlin and the bowl at his hand. He had dropped the massive _Compendium of Colick Draughts_ on the floor. His face was white.

“What the hell?” Merlin said.

“You’re,” Arthur sputtered. “You’re a— _sorcerer!_ ”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “So what?”

“So—you’re evil!” Arthur said, backing up. “Sorcerers aren’t good, they’re _evil!_ I can’t believe I’ve been—”

Merlin stared at him. “What are you on?”

“What’s going on here?” Gaius appeared at the doorway to his chambers.

“He’s a witch!” Arthur said, his voice rising.

“So am I, young prince,” Gaius said. “You knew that.”

Arthur staggered back another step. “But—magic—”

“Magic can be used for good or evil, just like any other skill,” Gaius said.

Arthur shook his head rapidly. “No. No. My father—I can’t—” He cast another disbelieving look at Merlin. “I can’t believe you lied to me!”

“I didn't lie," Merlin said indignantly. "When did I ever say I didn’t have magic?” 

“It’s evil!” Arthur shouted. “I was there, I saw Morgause’s spell-men. They killed a hundred of my father’s men without remorse and went for more. They killed women, too, anyone in their path. Magic corrupts. It’s always evil. I didn’t think _you_ were too!”

He bolted for the door. Merlin watched, stunned, as Arthur slammed the door. 

“What on earth just happened?” he said, turning to Gaius, bewildered, his hands still green and slimy.

Gaius sighed. “Sit down, Merlin. You can leave the tank for later. I’m going to talk to you about Uther.”

Merlin rinsed his hands in the washwater while Gaius sat down heavily.

“When I was at Camelot, we suffered much at the hands of magic,” Gaius began. “When Uther took the crown, there were many who wanted to test him, and he was young and brash....He didn’t always handle things the right way, and he made a lot of powerful enemies. Magical ones.”

“Like Nimue,” Merlin said. “Even I’ve heard that story.”

“Yes, like Nimue,” Gaius said. “She, and others, wreaked havoc on Camelot. Uther saw the full extent of misery that sorcery can bring upon a land when it is used for the wrong ends, and he began to turn against it. Even then, he managed to stitch together a fragile peace among the kingdoms, and all might not have been lost until magic took Uther’s wife.”

“Oh,” Merlin said softly. “Arthur’s mother?”

“She died when Arthur was born,” Gaius said sadly. “She was a beautiful, kind woman. Uther mourned her passing deeply. So deeply that it wrought a black shroud of hatred around his heart and it ate at him. He was never the same king after that.”

“So then he outlawed magic.”

“Yes. And he taught his son to hate it as well.”

“He did a good job of that,” Merlin said, putting his chin in his hands.

“I do not think that Arthur is a lost cause,” Gaius said. “He’s young. He’s had a lot of shocks in the last few days. He’s already had to adjust his worldview dramatically. He’ll get over it.”

“He’d better,” Merlin said. “I’m not going to stop doing magic around him or anything.”

Gaius patted him on the shoulder. “Nor would I expect you to. You’re practically made of magic, Merlin, it leaks out through your very skin.”

“I hate having to hide it,” Merlin grumbled.

“You won’t have to forever.”

“I hope so.” Merlin stared at his hands, imagining the magic oozing out like Gaius said.

“Now, about that leech tank.”

“But what about Arthur?” Merlin said. “Should I go after him?”

“He’ll make his way back,” Gaius said. “I don’t expect he fancies spending another night at the stables. Even less than spending one with a sorcerer.”

*

Gaius was right. Arthur came slinking back not long before dinner. Merlin, engrossed in a book of spells, looked up and then went back to reading.

Arthur stood there, and then he cleared his throat loudly. “I’ve decided it’s okay that you’re a sorcerer,” he announced.

“Oh?” Merlin said. “It is, is it?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, with the air of someone who is about to impart a piece of great wisdom. “As long as you don’t do magic, then you won’t turn evil.”

“No deal,” Merlin said, and turned the page.

“What?” Arthur said angrily.

“I’m not going to stop doing magic,” Merlin said. “I know I’m a good person, and I know that I only use it for good. So I won’t turn evil.”

“How would you know that?” Arthur said.

“You’ll tell me,” Merlin said, glancing up. “The second you see me using it for evil, you tell me.”

“But...” Arthur began automatically, clearly not expecting this turn of events.

“You’d see it, right? So then you could tell me and I would stop.”

Arthur thought it over. “I guess that would work,” he said reluctantly. Merlin heard something that sounded very much like a muffled snort from Gaius’s closed chambers.

“Deal then,” Merlin said, closing his book and standing up. He crossed over to Arthur, spat in his hand, and held it out.

Arthur stared at him a moment longer, then did the same with his left hand. They shook.

“Glad that’s settled,” Merlin said. “I have some other places in the castle I want to show you tomorrow. There’s this spot where you can see one of Hegelius’s abandoned castles if you squint just right."

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, all! Next episode: Target practice, proof that all knights are jerks, and proof that teenage boys suck at self-awareness.


	5. Target Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knights are jerks, teenage boys suck at self-awareness, and Gaius patches everybody up.

The rainstorm overnight had dumped so much rain down the chimney that even the Great Hall fires had gone out. Merlin sighed when he saw them. “Great.”

“What?”

“We’ll have to relight them, and we’re already late. Come on, bring over some wood and I’ll grab a flint.”

Arthur carried two loads of wood over and Merlin arranged the logs with several skeins of charred cloth beneath them. He tossed the flint to Arthur.

Arthur caught it in his good left hand. He studied it, then looked up. “What do I do with this?”

“Use it to start the fire, dummy,” Merlin said. “I’ve got to go tell Cook we’re late.”

Merlin turned to go, but Arthur was just standing there.

“Er,” Arthur said. “I don’t—”

"Wait, seriously?" Merlin turned back to stare at him more fully. “You’re truly telling me you’ve never used a flint and steel before?”

The tips of Arthur’s ears went pink. “Why would I need to?” he said defensively.

“Isn’t part of a knight’s training how to survive in the forest? I’d think you’d need to light a fire for that,” Merlin said.

“We always brought servants!”

Merlin shook his head. “Hand me that flint.”

Merlin showed him how to hold the flint, wrapped in a little piece of cloth, in his left hand, and to strike it quickly with a shard of metal. A spark leapt up and smouldered briefly on the cloth.

“There!” Merlin blew it out and handed the flint back. “Now you try it.”

Arthur tried, but his right hand was the bad wrist, and he couldn’t grip the metal with enough force to make a spark. He cursed, reversing the order of the items.

Just their luck, over Arthur’s shoulder, Merlin saw Cenred stride through the doors. He cleared his throat. “Your majesty.”

Arthur looked quickly over his shoulder and his face went dark when he saw the king. He turned his attention back to the flint, but it was too late. Cenred saw them and sauntered over, smirking.

“What’s this? Why haven’t the fires been lit yet?”

“We’re working on it, sire,” Merlin said promptly.

“Indeed?” Cenred said, drawing the word out. He put his thumbs in his belt and leaned forward to watch.

Merlin chewed his lower lip as they both watched Arthur struggle with the task, the flint grasped awkwardly in his bad right hand. After a few failed attempts, the king reached out to grab the wrist and hauled Arthur close to him. The flint dropped to the ground.

“What’s wrong with this wrist, Gaius?” Cenred called, ignoring Arthur’s attempt to twist out of his grasp.

Across the hall, Gaius put down the garland of dried herbs he was stringing across the windows to repel evil and came towards them. “It healed badly, my lord,” the physician said cautiously.

“You can fix that, though. I’ve seen you straighten broken limbs before.”

Arthur went very still. His eyes darted to Gaius.

“I do have knowledge of that spell, yes,” Gaius said, slowly.

“Do it then,” Cenred said, yanking Arthur forward by the wrist. “I don’t need a crippled slave.”

Gaius hesitated, looking back and forth between the expectant king and Arthur, whose frightened eyes were fixed on Gaius.

“Sire, I’m afraid the spell won’t work unless the participant is willing,” Gaius said slowly. “The boy does not wish it healed.”

“What’s that?” Cenred shook Arthur. “Why not, whelp? Surely you don’t wish to be a cripple all your life?”

Arthur pulled away. “Not if it’s in your service.”

Cenred shoved him backward roughly. Arthur landed hard on the cobblestones.

“That’s fine,” Cenred grinned. “Guess you’ll never give me any trouble with a sword or bow, eh?”

Arthur, for once, held his tongue as Cenred laughed and strode away, but his eyes burned with hatred. Gaius pursed his lips briefly and went back to his garlands.

Arthur shook off Merlin’s outstretched hand to help him up. “I don’t need his pity,” Arthur said, standing and brushing dirt violently off his backside. “Or yours.”

“No,” Merlin said sharply. “But you do owe Gaius for lying to the king for you. That spell would work whether you wanted it or not. Gaius _never_ lies.”

Arthur’s frown deepened further. But after a moment, he said, more quietly, “I already owe Gaius.”

“Yes, you do,” Merlin said. He reached for the flint and steel, but Arthur picked them up first.

“I need to practice this,” he said.

He cursed after two more failed attempts, and Merlin reached gently over. “The angle should be lower,” he said. “Not so high. Short strokes.” Arthur shrugged off his hand irritably, and Merlin stepped back.

On the sixth try, Arthur got a tiny shower of sparks. The cloth caught one and held it. “Quick, cup it close and blow on it,” Merlin instructed.

Arthur brought the cloth close to his face and blew gently on the cloth. The spark brightened and held, and he used it to light the tinder. The fire licked steadily, bathing the still-dark hall in light.

Arthur stepped back and watched the fire grow, his face full of emotions that Merlin couldn’t quite make out.

*

“Boy! The knights are on their way! Get Sir Gareth’s horse saddled,” big, smelly Giraud ordered. “And don’t spook him like last time, eh?”

“I didn’t,” Arthur grumbled, but under his breath.

Sir Gareth rode the biggest, unruliest stallion in the stables. Of course. He claimed none of the others were strong enough to handle his weight. The horse was a fine bay, just didn’t take to Gareth’s shouting and jerking around, in Arthur’s private opinion. In the right hands he’d be much calmer.

He slid into the horse’s stall, keeping up a soft stream of words, and pulled the tack down from the wall. The horse’s flanks quivered.

“Just going to saddle you, big guy,” Arthur said. “I know you’re not crazy about it, but Gareth wants to take you out, so out you go.” He pulled the strap underneath the bay’s belly. “If you take a scare and break his leg, by the way, I’d owe you one.”

Outside, he and the horse both caught the sound of loud male voices. “That’s your buddy,” Arthur said, backing carefully out of the stall and catching the reins in his hand. “Come on, let’s go meet him, and be on good behavior for me, okay?”

The horse bucked the reins, but let Arthur lead him out into the yard with a minimum of fuss for once. Maybe he was feeling the spring sunshine, too. He laid his ears back and picked his feet up as they moved into the stableyard.

The sound of swords clashing from the next yard over made Arthur’s stomach feel hollow. That was where he was supposed to be, practicing his footwork and feints. He’d just begun to work up to jousting, though his father’s other knights ribbed him because even the spindly practice javelin wobbled in his grasp. The only one who never laughed was Leon.

—Leon, who used to clap him on the back and tell him he could see the knight Arthur would become. 

Leon, who died spitted on the end of a spear thrown by one of Morgause’s spelled soldiers, protecting Arthur and Uther, loyal even as he sank to his knees and turned to look at them one last time, his mouth rimmed in blood.

The bay stallion whickered nervously, bringing Arthur back to the courtyard with a thump. He unclenched his good hand from the reins and stood there waiting for Sir Gareth, flexing his bad right hand tentatively.

Giraud came out of the stable, leading a chestnut red saddled for another knight. His eyes flicked over Arthur and the bay horse suspiciously.

Arthur waited, his mouth tight. The bay horse was as quiet as he’d ever been. There wasn’t anything to be found fault with.

“Straighten the blanket,” Giraud snapped.

Arthur looked. The blanket was not askew. “It’s—”

“I said straighten it, boy,” Giraud said through his teeth.

Arthur forced his mouth shut and tugged at the blanket completely pointlessly. “There,” he snapped.

“Are you giving me lip, boy?” Giraud said.

Arthur glared. Next to him, the bay horse snorted and stomped.

“No,” Arthur said, in as even a tone as he could manage, but only because he didn’t want to set the bay off. "Sir."

“That’s what I thought,” Giraud said loftily.

“Ho, it’s the dung prince!” said Sir Gareth, coming around the corner, followed by four other knights in padded shirts and chain mail.

“The prince of horseshit!” added another.

“And how are your subjects this fine day? Shitting merrily, I hope?”

The other knights guffawed. Sir Gareth reached for the reins, chortling. “And is this what all the royalty of Camelot are wearing this season?” he said, sweeping a gloved hand at Arthur’s mud and dung-spattered clothes.

Arthur thought of Camelot, its flags flying high in the breeze.

“O Dung Prince,” Sir Gareth said, “I asked you a question. What are the fashions of Camelot this season? Are you modeling them for us right now?”

“Let me see,” said another knight, sniffing theatrically. “Horseshit, with a touch of unwashed stink?”

“Or is it just you, and the others are going with a more charred, bloody look?” Sir Gareth said nastily.

Arthur could not stop his hands curling into fists, making his bad wrist twinge. “No,” he ground out.

“What?” Sir Gareth snapped.

“No....sire.”

“I don’t like your tone,” Sir Gareth said. “We’re just asking you about Camelot fashion.”

“Maybe he needs a lesson,” said the other knight, who had picked up the chestnut horse’s reins.

“I think he does,” Sir Gareth said. “Sir Braen, I think we need a moving target for practice today, don’t you?”

Sir Braen, brown-bearded and square-faced, eyed Arthur. “You read my mind, Gareth.”

*

The sun was finally out and the castle was in fine spirits. Merlin, feeding the chickens, heard the giggling of the ladies out for their walk along the south corridor and the bright sound of swords clashing in the inner courtyard as the knights took advantage of the weather to train again.

When he carried the empty bucket of feed back to the granary, though, he heard a lot of laughing and a lot less clashing.

Merlin wasn’t sure what made him take a few steps closer to the gate. When he looked over to the lower yard, though, he stopped dead.

The knights were jeering and laughing as Sir Gareth, his huge bulk recognizable underneath the chain mail and helmet, galloped on a horse at half speed with a long spear balanced in one hand.

Ten paces away, a smaller figure ran the opposite way with a pockmarked shield. Sir Gareth hefted the weight of the spear, raised it, and hurled it at the shield.

The aim was true. The spear struck the shield, and the force of the throw sent the figure stumbling sideways to the ground. Merlin hissed as the carrier fell, narrowly avoiding the tip of the spear impaled in the shield.

The figure stayed on the ground for a long moment as the knights laughed even harder, but as he did, Merlin recognized Arthur’s blond hair underneath the mud.

Before he really thought about it, Merlin had reached for the gate and stumbled down the steps to the lower yard.

In the time it took Merlin to get down to the yard, Arthur had picked himself up. He locked his knees to brace himself for a moment, legs trembling.

“Stop!” Merlin yelled, jogging onto the muddy field, the empty feed bucket banging against his legs.

All of the knights—there were six or seven, including Sir Gareth—swiveled their heads to look at him. So did Arthur.

“Who the hell are you?” said one of the knights.

“I know who the whelp is,” Sir Gareth said. “You’re Gaius’s boy, eh?” He jumped down off the stallion, chain mail clanking.

“Er, that’s right,” Merlin said, standing his ground as Sir Gareth advanced. He didn’t remember making a conscious choice to be in this situation—what had he been thinking?—but here he was and he wasn’t going to back down.

“What exactly,” Sir Gareth said dangerously, “put the thought in your fool head that you could tell a group of knights what to do and not do?”

A couple of the other knights laughed.

“Get out of here, Merlin,” Arthur hissed, limping his way over.

“I didn’t ask you, dung prince,” Sir Gareth said.

“Er, nothing,” Merlin said. “Sire.”

“Then,” Sir Gareth said, leaning over and enunciating very carefully, “get out of my sight right this minute, and I won’t trim off those overgrown ears for you with my sword.”

Merlin glared. “Arthur’s had enough,” he said stubbornly.

“Merlin, stop it,” Arthur said angrily. He was covered head to toe in mud, and there was a scrape on his cheek.

“There’s no reason for you to treat him like this,” Merlin said.

Sir Gareth threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, but there is. We’re teaching him a lesson. Right, boys?”

The other knights shouted and cheered. Merlin’s ears burned.

“He’s not your toy,” Merlin said. “He’s a prince!”

“Oh yes, he’s the orphan prince of horseshit!” Gareth chortled.

“Shut UP!” yelled Arthur. But when Merlin turned, he saw Arthur lunging at _him_.

“What the—” He barely had time to dodge when Arthur’s left hand sailed past his ear, fingers clenched in a fist. “What are you doing!”

“I’m _not a prince!_ ” Arthur screamed, throwing another punch.

“What is wrong with you?” Merlin yelled back, stepping out of the way of the punch and into a kick that made him stagger backwards. “Hey!” He kicked back angrily.

“Just stop!” Arthur yelled. “Stop it! Stop—”

“I was trying to help you!”

“I don’t want your help!” Arthur’s left fist hit him straight in the eye and Merlin’s vision blacked out for a moment.

“You—” Merlin touched a hand to his eye, saw blood trickling down from his eyebrow, and found himself suddenly furious. “Then I won’t give it anymore!” he yelled, dropping his bucket and lunging forward to tackle Arthur. “You stupid spoiled brat!” They both landed hard on the ground, kicking and punching and yelling.

Sir Gareth’s astonishment turned to glee. “Look at this, a servant fight!” he chortled, slapping his side with merriment.

He and the other knights cheered as Merlin and Arthur rolled in the mud. Merlin landed a solid blow on Arthur's jaw, then grunted as Arthur’s knee hit him in the stomach. He smashed the palm of his hand up into Arthur’s sternum and felt the other boy gasp out his breath. As Arthur reeled, his elbow knocked Merlin across the jaw.

Merlin was peripherally aware of the knights circling around them, but Arthur didn’t seem to notice. They rolled again and Arthur came out on top. He straddled Merlin’s legs and threw a punch that glanced off Merlin’s ear and sent his head ringing.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Merlin yelled again, trying to heave Arthur off him. The instinct to throw him off using magic bubbled up, but even in the roar of his anger Merlin squashed it down.

“I hate you,” Arthur said. “I hate all of you! I hate this stupid castle!” He threw another punch with his bad right hand. Merlin grabbed the hand and twisted it, making Arthur gasp. Merlin let go and Arthur pulled his wrist in against his ribs.

Merlin took the opportunity to heave Arthur off his legs and Arthur tumbled sideways. He stayed there in a crouch, still holding the bad wrist against his side, and at the sight of his face Merlin felt the fight drain out of him. He stopped.

“Come on,” Sir Gareth jeered. He kicked Merlin in the side. “Go for it, he’s down!”

Merlin hissed, holding his side. “No,” he said. “He’s just a stupid pratface jerk.” He got up. His eye and face and ribs hurt, and he could barely see out of the mud all over his face. “He can go to hell.”

Arthur stayed on the ground, his ribs heaving in time with Merlin’s. He wouldn’t look at Merlin.

“I’m leaving,” Merlin said. “You can stay here for all I care.” He staggered backwards, lurching out of the circle of knights, and picked up his abandoned bucket.

“Just go,” Arthur hissed.

“I am!” Merlin threw over his shoulder, limping back up the steps. “See if I ever try and help you again!” His knee hurt where Arthur had twisted it when they landed on the ground.

“Fine!” Arthur yelled, but his voice cracked embarrassingly, and he shut up. The knights laughed.

Merlin stomped all the way back up to Gaius’s chambers. His left eye was swelling rapidly, and by the time he got back he could barely see out of it. Gaius was bent over a pot on the fire, stirring. He looked up when Merlin slammed the door.

“What on earth happened to you?” Gaius gasped, straightening.

“Nothing,” Merlin said sullenly.

“Merlin,” Gaius said reprovingly. “Look at that eye! Who did this to you?”

“No one. It’s fine. Go away Gaius.”

“I will most certainly not. Sit down, boy,” Gaius barked, in a tone that Merlin had only rarely heard him use before.

He sank grudgingly down into the chair at the table.

“Hold this over your eye,” Gaius ordered, handing him a wet rag. Merlin obliged, hissing as the cold wet fabric dripped over the scratches on his cheek.

The world disappeared from view as he squeezed both eyes shut and leaned over the table, feeling the rough fabric on his face and the growing bruises and aches all over his body and the confusing mix of fury and hurt.

“Hold still,” Gaius instructed, and he began to clean the mud off Merlin’s face with another rag with brisk strokes. Merlin let him.

“Why is he such a sodding wanker,” Merlin said, his voice rising. “Who would want a prince like that to be king anyway?”

“Arthur did this?” Gaius’s hand stopped its ministrations.

“He hit me!” Merlin said. “For no sodding reason! The knights were using him as target practice and I told them to stop, and then he just lunged at me!”

“Turn your head,” Gaius said. Merlin did, and Gaius’s careful fingers felt along his jaw. “You’re going to have a pretty bruise to show off tomorrow,” Gaius said. “I hope you gave as good as you got?”

“Yes,” Merlin said. “He came at me, what was I supposed to do? And I was mad! I was trying to help him!”

“Good for you,” Gaius said, and then, “Princes aren’t used to needing help, Merlin.”

“What are you talking about?” Merlin hissed as Gaius cleaned a pair of scratches on his cheek. “He needs help with every bloody thing. He can’t even light a bloody fire on his own.”

“Exactly," Gaius said. "He’s in a strange land where everyone hates him, he can’t defend himself, and he doesn’t know how to do anything right.” 

"He's still a jerk," Merlin muttered. “I’m the only person in this castle who’s trying to help him.”

“Yes. In a way, you’re his only safe target,” Gaius said.

Merlin’s mouth fell open. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

"I'm not trying to excuse his behavior, mind you me." Gaius felt carefully along the back of his skull. "Did you get knocked in the head?"

"Every sodding part of me got knocked," Merlin said. Water dripped down from the muddy rag past his eye, and he squeezed them both shut.

When he opened his eyes, Gaius looked troubled. The part of him Merlin could see out of his swelling eye, anyway.

"I'm just complaining, Gaius," Merlin said. "I'll be fine."

Gaius reached out to grasp him on the shoulder, a gesture he hadn't done much in the past year or two as Merlin had gotten older. "You did a good thing today, Merlin," he said.

Some of the fury in Merlin’s chest began to ease. "I know," he said, sighing. "I still don't get why he attacked _me_ when the knights were the ones being the arseholes."

Gaius got up to pull a jar of comfrey salve off the shelf. "Arthur's got a lot of anger," he said, and Merlin could hear the weight of worry in his voice. "It could eat him alive if he lets it."

Merlin fell silent as Gaius dabbed the salve into the cuts and scrapes on his face and jaw. "He was starting to seem kind of okay," Merlin said. "Underneath all the prat."

Gaius put down the jar. "All done," he said. "Are you going to be able to see out of that eye enough to finish your duties?"

"I think so," Merlin said, squinting.

"You'd better go do them now, then," Gaius said. "You're going to be feeling that fight worse in a few hours."

*

Arthur didn't come back until long past supper. Merlin was in his room, reading about levitation, but he heard the door close quietly and Gaius's exclamation at the sight of him. The first thing Arthur did, though, was to ease open the door to their room.

"What do you want?" Merlin snapped.

Arthur stiffened. He looked almost as bad as Merlin probably did; face scratched and dirty and a split lower lip that Merlin, with a nasty, unwelcome flash of pride, recognized as his own handiwork. But Arthur didn't say anything, just stood there a moment, then dropped a small napkin-wrapped package on the chair by the door and went out again.

Merlin tried to keep reading, but his curiosity won the battle. He put the book aside and went over to pick up the napkin. Inside lay two dried plums, a rare treat for a servant this far into the winter.

Merlin held it, thinking. Outside in the main physician's quarters, he could hear Gaius talking to Arthur as he cleaned him up much the same way he had Merlin. Arthur's answers were monosyllabic at best.

"Listen, boy," Gaius said. "You have to learn how to control your anger."

Arthur's answer was too low for Merlin to catch, but Gaius heaved an impatient sigh.

"There's always going to be someone like Sir Gareth. It's not about him, it's about _you_. You'll never survive here otherwise."

This time, Merlin could make out Arthur's surly reply. "What if I don't want to?"

Gaius stopped dabbing at Arthur's face. "Look, Arthur. I took you in under my roof and I don't ask for much. But you have to promise me you won't let this happen again. You cannot let anger be your guide."

Arthur said nothing. "Arthur?" Gaius pressed.

"Fine," Arthur said after another moment, even lower. "It won't."

"I don't ask this lightly," Gaius said.

"I said fine!" Arthur snapped. "I gave you my word. A prince of Camelot doesn't go back on his word. I don't have much else but I do have that."

Merlin moved away from the door and leaned back against the stone. He looked down again at the wrinkly plums in his hand. They looked like good ones. Plump and a little sticky.

"How'd you get these?" he said, sticking his head out the door.

Gaius and Arthur both turned to look at him. Arthur caught his eye, then dropped his gaze to study the table intently.

"Bartered with Cook," he said. "Said I'd help her write to her folks in the next kingdom. She doesn't know her letters."

"Oh," Merlin said. "S'nice of you."

Arthur's study of the table intensified into a scowl. "I," he began.

Merlin waited.

"I was a jerk," Arthur said flatly, finally meeting Merlin's eyes. "This afternoon."

"Yep," Merlin said.

Gaius had kept silent through the exchange, but behind Arthur's back, one lip twitched at the corner.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Arthur said, too loudly, fingering a thread in his sleeve.

"Accepted," Merlin said. "Thanks." He held up the plum. "Want one?"

Arthur looked up. "Yes."

They tried to offer Gaius a half, but he waved it off, saying he was too old for sweets and anyway he was going to bed, so Arthur took one and Merlin the other. They ate by candlelight, guttering in the breeze from the window left open for the first warm night of the season.

Arthur’s was gone in two bites. Merlin savored his in tiny bites, letting each one bloom in his mouth.

“I have to spend my free time the next whole week at Cook’s,” Arthur said.

Merlin did not dignify this with a reply, choosing instead to focus his attention on the plum.

“You’re being kind of ridiculous,” Arthur said after a while. “Why don’t you just eat it?”

“Shut up,” Merlin said, and then he closed his mouth on a crack he was about to make regarding Arthur’s royal status. Maybe he would think about reducing those in the future. Maybe. “You’re just jealous yours is gone already.”

Arthur watched him nibble. “You suck at fighting, you know,” he said.

Merlin swallowed and made a face at Arthur. “I think you’re forgetting who was on the ground at the end.”

“That’s just because of my bad wrist,” Arthur said. “You would’ve lost in a second otherwise.”

“What’s your point?”

“Do you want me to teach you?” Arthur said.

Merlin stopped and thought, licking sticky bits of plum skin off his thumb. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t want to know how to hurt people. There’s enough people who do that in the world already.”

“But then Sir Gareth or any of the others will always be able to push you around.”

“They’re going to do that no matter what you could teach me,” Merlin pointed out. “Like Sir Gareth said. They’re knights. We’re servants.”

Arthur’s blond eyebrows drew together. “That isn’t fair.”

“Nope. But if I tried to hit back, they’d just hit harder. That’s just how it works.”

“That’s not how it worked in Camelot,” Arthur said.

“Really? Knights didn’t get to do whatever they wanted?”

“Well....” Arthur began, then to his credit, stopped to think. “Maybe, but they weren’t jerks!”

“They weren’t jerks to you,” Merlin said. “I know knights, though. I highly doubt they’re different anywhere else.”

“They weren’t jerks,” Arthur said defensively again, but Merlin could tell the gears were turning in Arthur’s head already, so he let it slide.

“Come on, let’s get to bed,” he said. “I have to get an early start, the steward’s called an early meeting for all the house staff.”

“All right,” Arthur said. They both got up stiffly, the aches from the fight already apparent.

“Merlin,” Arthur said seriously. Merlin turned and looked at him. Clearing his throat, Arthur said magnanimously, “You can have the bed tonight, even though it’s my turn.”

Merlin blinked. Then he grinned. “It just so happens that while you were beating the stuffing out of me—” Arthur winced “—Gaius was buying a second bed.”

“Really?” Arthur looked so relieved that Merlin laughed.

“Yes,” he said, blowing out the candle. “Don't forget to thank him in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I gotta say. I hoped you all enjoyed it too.
> 
> I have some notes done, so hope I can get more out a bit sooner. Thanks to Silentia for the nudge :D Next chapter: Less fighting, more feasting!


	6. Feast Day

"What's all this, what’s going on?" Arthur asked, catching up to Merlin, huffing slightly under the weight of a big iron stewpot. The castle servants swirled around them with chatter.

"They’ve just told us we're having a feast. The Lady Elinor is leaving," Merlin said. “Why aren’t you down at the stables with Giraud?”

"He sent me to give this to Cook,” Arthur said, hefting the stewpot. “I think he’s sweet on her.” He made a face. “Who's Lady Elinor?"

"The king's aunt," Merlin said. He looked sideways at Arthur. "She's going to Camelot, to be the steward for Cenred."

"What?" Arthur stopped. Merlin slowed down.

"So Cenred's not going to rule it himself?" Arthur asked.

"Guess not," Merlin said.

Arthur processed this. "What's she like?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Elinor. Is she just?"

"I guess so," Merlin said, trying to think. "She used to be the one who was in charge when Cenred left. Things were mostly the same. In person she's kind of scary. It feels like she's looking right through you. But I don't remember her doing anything horrible or hearing about it from any of the other servants."

Arthur blew out a breath. "I guess that's okay, then."

They started walking again. "Why do you want to know?" Merlin said.

Arthur looked at him like _he_ was the idiot. "Cause she's going to rule over Camelot, dummy," he said. "Of course I want to know what she's like."

"But you don't live there anymore."

"They're still my people," Arthur said.

Merlin fell silent. Most of the time Arthur was such a prat, so clueless and annoying, but sometimes he said stuff like that.

An elbow jabbed him hard in the ribs. "Why so quiet?" Arthur said. Merlin grumbled, rubbing his side. "Nothing," he said. 

Two of the castle dogs hurtled past them in the narrow corridor. Arthur swore as one of them knocked against the back of his knee and he stumbled, catching himself against the wall. The big stewpot clanged on the floor. 

“Bloody dogs!” he said, as two passing servants scowled at the incredible din of the stewpot echoing off the stone walls. “I can’t believe Cenred just lets them run wild all over the castle like this. My father would never have allowed it.” 

“What, Camelot didn’t have dogs?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course we had dogs. But they stayed in the lower yard where they belonged, not running all over the castle like a bloody menace.” Arthur bent to heft the stewpot with his good hand.

"Whatever,” Merlin said; he was learning to ignore Arthur’s grumblings about perfect bloody Camelot. “Gwen says there are fire-breathers coming for the feast!"

"I saw one spout flame from his arse once."

"You did not!" Merlin gaped.

"Cross my heart. You should ask them to do it." Arthur was grinning again.

"Yeah, that will really make the ladies happy," Merlin said, thinking about the Lady Morgana.

"Who cares about what the ladies think?" Arthur made a face. "Boring. Let's see if we can slip out to see the fire eaters' camp. When do they get here?"

"In three days, I think. Then they'll have a day before the feast." They turned the corner and went out through the house yard, where two maids were beating down rugs.

"Wait, the feast isn't for another four days?"

"Yeah, of course," Merlin said. "We aren't nearly ready for a feast that big. You haven't seen a hundred pigs brought in to slaughter, or the swans or the ducks for roasting, have you?"

"I guess not," Arthur said. "I never really thought about it before."

Merlin snorted. "Let me guess, it all just used to magically appear? There's a lot of work to put on a feast!"

Arthur scowled. Merlin continued. "We've got to scrub down the Hall and lay down clean rushes, gut the pigs and roast them, get the pastries started, that'll need at least two days, order the wine and ale from the next kingdom..."

"Merlin!"

Merlin swiveled his head around. Gwen was coming down the stairs, red kirtle over her homespun dress, hair tied into a plait over her shoulder, carrying a bucket of water in either hand.

"Hey Gwen!" he said happily. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

"It's good to see you too! Oh, I've been so busy you wouldn't believe," she said. "I can’t stay long though, I have to get guest quarters ready for all Elinor's guests, too."

"See, that's another thing," Merlin said to Arthur. "For a feast this big they'll have at least fifty guests, and we'll have to feed..."

Arthur was clutching the handle of the stewpot with both hands, staring. "What's with you?" Merlin followed his gaze to Gwen. "Oh, sorry. Gwen, this is Arthur. Arthur, this is my friend Gwen, she's the Lady Morgana's maidservant now."

Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it.

"Nice to meet you," Gwen said pleasantly. "You look much better than last time I saw you."

Arthur's mouth opened again and this time sound finally emerged. "Oh?"

"Yes, I stopped by to see Merlin when they were treating you. I think you were delirious. It's good to see you on your feet." Gwen smiled.

Astounded, Merlin saw that Arthur was _blushing_. "Ah. Yes," he said.

After a moment, it became clear nothing else was forthcoming. "Er...How's working with Morgana?" Merlin asked her, coming to Arthur's rescue.

"Oh, I quite like her," Gwen said. "Being a lady’s maid is better in some ways but it takes so much time, that's why I haven't been to see you."

"You should stop by sometime," Merlin said. "Especially if you can swipe any more pastries."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "I know, I know, you'd sell your own mother for something sweet. I'll see what I can do. Well, say hi to Gaius for me, I've got to get down to air out the west guest quarters."

She picked up her buckets and grinned at Arthur. "See you around!"

"See you around," Arthur echoed as she left. He was still clutching the stewpot like an amulet.

"Okay," Merlin said. "What the hell was that?"

"What?" Arthur said. He was staring after Gwen as she disappeared into the shadows of the hall.

Merlin looked back and forth. "What on earth is wrong with you?"

Arthur shook himself and his eyes drifted back to Merlin. "N-nothing."

"Wait...do you _like_ her?" Merlin demanded.

"Er, who?"

Arthur’s attempt to play dumb was really pathetic. Merlin rolled his eyes. "Gwen, you dolt!"

"I don't even know her," Arthur stammered.

"You looked like somebody leapt out from the dark and stabbed you."

"I think," Arthur said, looking down, the tips of his ears reddening, "I think I remember her. When she visited me when I was sick."

"I dunno, you were pretty out of it," Merlin said skeptically. "I think you probably just remember that because she told you."

"Whatever," Arthur muttered. "Let's just go, Cook's gonna be mad."

They went through the courtyard to the kitchen, where Merlin deposited his firewood and Arthur his stewpot from Giraud. Cook barely even grunted, preoccupied with the three assistant cooks who were stewing onions over the fire.

On the way back, Merlin cleared his throat. "Arthur likes Gwen," he singsonged quietly.

"Shut up!" Arthur said, his face reddening magnificently. “I do not!”

“You were staring,” Merlin said gleefully.

Arthur scowled at the wall. "I mean, obviously she's beautiful, so I was looking, so what?"

"Gwen? I guess," Merlin said. "I never really thought about it."

Arthur looked incredulously at him. "How have you never even thought about it?"

"She's my friend," Merlin said, shrugging. "I mean, she's great and all that. I just never thought to."

"You're mad," Arthur said. "By the way Merlin?"

"Yes?"

Arthur grabbed a handful of Merlin's tunic and yanked him forward.

"If you ever breathe a word about this to anyone I'll kill you," Arthur said, very close to his face. "Got it?"

"Kill me, what kind of insult is that? At least disembowel me, or have me drawn and quartered, or...." Merlin saw the look on Arthur's face and shut up. "Yes."

"Good."

*

The next few days were a flurry of activity. There was so much work to do that Arthur was drafted to the castle cleaning crew. Faced with the prospect of no Giraud for three whole days, Arthur was much more cheerful than normal, even when they were tasked with cleaning the Great Hall.

"This isn't so bad," Arthur said, as they stripped down the old rushes on the floor and found a wealth of treasures: two human teeth, belt buckles and buttons, a ring, a lady’s handkerchief, and a few coins.

"Trust me, it's worse after holidays and Midsummer," Merlin said grimly. "Mostly vomit."

Next they spread clean rushes over the floor, and then they had to bring in extra tables and chairs for the feast from the maze of storage rooms below the castle. Merlin and Arthur huffed and puffed as they heaved a big heavy oak table up the final set of stairs and towards the Hall.

"Why don’t you use your...you know.”

“My what?” Merlin said, grinning.

Arthur glowered. “You know. Your magic.”

"Really?" Merlin's ears perked up. Arthur just scowled further.

Merlin whispered a few words and the disconcerting ring of gold flared around his irises. The table they were carrying became light as a feather.

“What the—” Arthur dropped his end of the table in surprise. It came crashing down, narrowly missing his toe, very much restored to its former weight.

Merlin watched, that annoying smirk back on his face. “Watch it,” Arthur hissed, hefting his end again. “That’s what I mean, though. If you did magic like that all the time, you’d barely do any work at all!”

“Magic like what?” Merlin said loudly. “I’m terrible shakes at it.”

Arthur stared at him.

Merlin glanced around. The other servants were gossiping happily at the other end of the hall.

He lowered his voice. “People who have real magic, powerful magic, they get taken away to be trained,” he explained.

They set down the table and stayed there for a moment to catch their breath.

“By Morgause?”

Merlin looked around again. “They get trained to be true warlocks. Killers, for the king. So I can do a little magic in public, cause lots of people can do weak magic, but if anyone ever found what I can really do....”

“You’d get taken away.”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t you just fight them off, with your magic?”

Merlin snorted. “Yes, if I wanted me and everyone I love to be a fugitive. They threaten your family, that’s how they do it when you’re older. When you’re a little kid they just tell you you’re going off to train with Aunt Morgause and won’t it be a jolly time, don’t they?”

“So what could you really do, if you didn’t have to hide it?” Arthur asked, half eagerly, half hesitantly.

A slow, conspiratorial smile lit Merlin’s face.

The other servants had gone to get more chairs. They were alone in the Hall.

“Watch,” Merlin said, and his eyes went golden again. He reached out his hand towards the pair of great stone eagles that guarded the entrance to the Great Hall. Each of them probably weighed half a ton.

As Arthur watched, the stone statues lifted off the floor—an inch—two inches—two feet—and the one nearest them belched a pillar of flame. Arthur jumped, cursing. Merlin laughed, and the eagles settled gently back down just as the other servants’ voices came audible down the other end of the Hall.

For a moment, Arthur was stunned silent. Merlin watched him carefully.

“That was...really impressive,” Arthur said, finally.

“Thanks,” Merlin said, a little sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m still learning. Gaius has taught me a lot but he mostly just knows healing magic, so I have to teach myself the rest of it from books.”

"You look like you're doing okay to me," Arthur said.

“I’d learn a lot faster if I didn’t have to keep hiding it,” Merlin said. “It sucks, having to hide part of who you are.”

“Trust me. I know that,” Arthur said.

“Boys! Get back to work!” the castle steward’s voice came from behind them, and they both jumped. 

*

The castle spent the day leading up to the feast in an absolute mess. Arthur didn’t know how he had managed to miss this in Camelot. There was so much he’d never known about castle life despite living in one for the first sixteen years of his existence.

The guests started coming the day before and they just kept coming, men and women and sullen-looking royal children in big furs and jewels. The first time he saw someone he recognized—a noble from the kingdom to the west of Camelot—he ducked his head and tried to hurry faster with his armload of firewood, feeling embarrassment flush his cheeks. 

It took him a couple more “friends” to realize that no one was looking at the servants. And what did he care anyway? None of them were friends enough to come to Camelot’s aid, anyway. He kicked the stone wall as he went past.

One of the other bright spots was that he and Merlin were supposed to serve at the feast, so they each got a new tunic. This was most welcome news to Arthur, because all of Merlin’s shirts were too narrow in the shoulders for him and they were spattered with old potion stains that couldn’t really be scrubbed out. 

His new shirt was dark brown and kind of scratchy, the fabric cheap and roughly made, and a little bit too big. But he only spent a moment wishing for the soft red tunics he used to wear in Camelot before he pulled it on and went down to the kitchens with Merlin. 

“Get the tables set,” the steward barked when they arrived. “Merlin, show this royal git of ours how to set a table. The settings are in the south cupboards.”

“Yessir,” Merlin said. “C’mon, Arthur.”

They went through the hall, which was already dressed in fine embroidered brocades and boughs of crabapple flowers, and Merlin unlocked the cupboards with the steward’s key. 

“Here you go,” he said, piling plates in Arthur’s hands, “everyone gets their own plate for this, and here are cups—”

Merlin pulled open the second cupboard and Arthur’s mouth went dry. Stacked inside were Camelot’s famous golden cups, carved with dragons with red ruby eyes. 

“Wow, these are new,” Merlin said, pulling a handful out to examine them. “Really nice, huh?”

He turned and saw Arthur’s expression. 

“Oh,” he said, recognition slowly dawning. “These—are these from Camelot?”

Arthur scowled and closed his mouth. “What does it matter,” he said, looking away. He saw Camelot’s beautiful horses in Cenred’s stables every day, and the people he’d lost that day were worth more than a hundred thousand golden cups. So why did something stupid like this bother him?

“Sorry,” Merlin said, and sometimes he sounded so genuinely sympathetic that Arthur wanted to kick him to make him stop making that face. 

“I’m going to go put these out,” he said. 

He busied himself setting out the plates, resisting the urge to give the chipped ones to the knights and Cenred (but he did make sure they got the dullest knives). Merlin followed after him, setting cups at every plate. Then they put out trays of dried apple slices and rows of more crabapple boughs down the center of each table. 

“Hey Gwen!” he heard Merlin call, and Arthur turned around so fast that he knocked a branch off the table, sending two cups and cutlery spanging to the floor. 

“Bloody great,” he muttered, bending over to pick them up. When he looked up, Guinevere was sweeping towards them in a sage-green dress and an armload of napkins. 

“Hi Merlin, hi Arthur,” she said. “Are you serving too?”

“Yep,” Merlin said, and Arthur nodded dumbly. 

“Excellent, it won’t be so boring then,” she said. “Did you see the tumblers yet? There’s a whole troupe and they’re quite good, I saw them practicing when we let them in.”

“That’s neat,” Merlin said, “but we’re really here for the firebreathers, right Arthur?” He elbowed Arthur in the side. “Arthur says he saw one of them spout flame out of his arse once, he did.”

“Merlin!” Arthur said, horrified, but Guinevere was laughing. He stared. 

“Did you really?” she said. “Blimey, I hope they do that tonight!” 

“That would hardly be...proper,” he said stupidly. “In front of the...ladies.”

“Oh c’mon Arthur, it would be excellent,” Merlin said. “Maybe if Cenred’s drunk enough he’ll volunteer for it.” 

Guinevere giggled. “Can’t hope for that, not while Morgause is here.” She pulled a thoughtful face. “Or maybe we can. Maybe he thinks that’ll impress her.” 

“I’m really glad you’re here, Gwen,” Merlin said, “you’re right, this’ll be way more fun with you and not just Sir Gloom-and-doom over here.” 

Arthur scowled at him. “I am not Sir Gloom-and-doom,” he said. 

“Really though, sometimes I worry your face will get stuck like that,’ Merlin said, reaching out to flick Arthur’s ear. Arthur caught his hand and growled. 

“You two are funny,” Guinevere said, shaking her head. “Hang on, I’ve got to go get Morgana ready for the party and then I’ll be right back down.”

*

They were so busy in the kitchens that they missed the actual start of the feast and also the firebreathers. Arthur came in with a platter of roast hog to see the tumblers midway through their act. The entire Hall was filled with guests. It was rowdier than Camelot’s feasts had ever been; the guests were folk from the north, men with big hairy beards and tall women who drank just as much as the men. The knights were openly grabbing at the serving ladies. Arthur set his jaw and went out. Someone grabbed a drumstick off the platter as he passed. 

“It is unbelievable how much these people can eat,” he said to Merlin when they were back in the kitchens. 

“Don’t complain, it means we make loads of food and there’s always left over,” Merlin said. “Trust me, feasts are good for everybody. We get to eat from the leftovers at the end of the night. Not officially, but you know. There’s way too much for anyone to notice.”

“Good.” Arthur’s stomach was growling; they hadn’t had a meal since porridge this morning. 

“Oi, you! Prince! Go back and fetch that Gaul wine from the cellars!” the steward barked at Arthur. “The King wants it for a special toast.”

“Yessir.” 

The cool dark of the cellar was a welcome break from the banging and yelling and smoke of the kitchen. Arthur did not hurry.

On his way back, though, Arthur felt a hand close around his arm. He jerked away automatically. Then he turned to see Morgana, decked out in a deep violet dress and a long silver necklace around her neck.

"Morgana!" he said, surprised. He'd seen her only a few times since they had discovered they were living in the same castle. "Where've you been?"

Morgana made a face. "On a trip with Morgause. She's trying to keep me from talking to you."

"Sure, she doesn’t want you hanging around with slaves,” Arthur said. 

"Morgause can stuff it," Morgana snapped. "I'm not forsaking you for that."

This was oddly comforting to Arthur. He and Morgana had grown apart in the last few years, as she was whisked off to learn the skills of a lady and he began to prepare for knight training, but they had spent many afternoons playing together as children.

"Here," Morgana said, pressing a package into his hand. He looked down. She had wrapped a fat slab of pork pie in a napkin, and half a honey tart.

"Dunno what they're feeding you, but you still look way too skinny," she said.

"Thanks," Arthur said, touched. "I'm doing okay, though, really. I'm staying with Gaius, the physician."

"Morgause told me. I met him once, he seemed nice. I hope he treats you well."

"Yeah, though he makes us drink these horrible potions for good health," Arthur said, pulling a face at the memory. "Merlin and I keep telling him we don't need it but he insists."

"Oh, Merlin?" Morgana said. "I met him. I'm surprised you're friends with him."

"Huh? Why?"

"Well," Morgana found her shoe very interesting, "he has magic."

"You know," Arthur said thoughtfully, "he seems like a decent lot despite that. Morgana...I'm beginning to think Father might have been...mistaken about that. About magic, I mean."

"Oh Arthur." Morgana flung her arms around him. Arthur rocked back on his heels, startled. He patted her awkwardly on the back with the hand holding the pie.

"I have something to tell you," she said into his shoulder. "Arthur, I think I have magic. Morgause thinks I do."

"What?" Arthur gasped. "You?"

"Yes." Morgana pulled back and looked into his face. "Do you remember all those awful dreams I had? I never told anyone, but sometimes...sometimes parts of them happened, later. Not all of them, but some. I thought I was losing my mind," she said, bright green eyes shining with the memory. "But Morgause says they're not dreams, they're visions. She says I have magic." Morgana heaved a shuddery breath. "But she gave me this bracelet, and they've stopped."

Arthur cast back in his memory, searching for any indication. "But you never made anything move, or anything like that. Not like Merlin does."

Morgana shook her head. "No, and I still can't. Morgause thinks I could, though I don't know why. I've spent enough time trying." She looked back up at him, her eyes still suspiciously shiny. "I'm so glad you don't hate magic too."

Arthur shifted. "I guess...Merlin says it's the same as being able to draw. It's a talent that you can use for good if you want to."

"Yes," Morgana said. "That's what Morgause says too! Oh Arthur, you don't know what it's like to be around people that understand. That I can tell everything to."

"Everything?" Arthur said. He was beginning to feel a little hurt. "Was it that awful with me and Father?"

Morgana stepped back, the silver jewels in her ears catching the torchlight. "Of course not!" she said. "It's just..." She cleared her throat. "It's just, Morgause is my sister. And it's so wonderful discovering that you have a family, and spending time with them, and...."

Morgana trailed off. Arthur could tell his emotions were showing on his face, but he found it hard to squash them back.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Arthur..."

She reached for his hand, but he stepped around her. "I have to go," he said. "The cook will yell if I stay too long."

"Arthur, I wanted to tell you,” Morgana said. “Morgause and I are going with the Lady Elinor tomorrow."

"Oh. Wait—to Camelot?" Arthur said. She nodded, watching his face. "We're just escorting her, though. We'll be back in a fortnight."

He looked at the candelabra in the corner, desperate to avoid her sweet, concerned gaze. "Make sure everyone's okay," he said. "The castle, everyone."

"I will," Morgana promised.

"I really have to go. Thanks for the food," he said, raising the napkin in one hand.

"Of course," Morgana said. "If you ever, ever need anything, please come see me."

"Dunno if they'd let a slave into your chambers," Arthur said. "But I appreciate it all the same." 

He escaped past her towards the smoky refuge of the kitchen.

"Where've you been? We're short, Nesta went off with one of the knights and we probably won't see her for the rest of the night," Merlin said, when Arthur reappeared.

Arthur grunted. Merlin looked closer. "What's with you?"

"Nothing," Arthur said shortly. "What needs to go out?"

"The roast veal and the eels. And they're going to need another tankard of ale at the knights' table, they're sucking it down like pigs."

They went out with the eels and ale. The party had escalated. At least two of the guests were already slumped senseless with drink into their plates of venison and hare, and the knights' table had burst into a loud rendition of a bawdy tavern song.

Morgause was there, looking bored. She leaned over to whisper something in Cenred's ear. He frowned, then stood up, swaying a little unsteadily—and Cenred could hold his drink, normally, so he had to be floating in it by now. He banged his iron goblet on the table.

"Shut up, you lot!" he bellowed, and the noise died down a little. "I raise my cup!" he said. "To my guests!" The crowd cheered lustily, whacking their cups and boots on the tables.

"To my aunt Elinor, surely the finest steward this land has ever seen, and soon to be the finest that another kingdom ever saw!" More sloshing, drinking, and cheers.

"And lastly, to Camelot! And its new, rightful owner. Me." Cenred tossed back the goblet of wine, his Adam's-apple bobbing in the torchlight as everyone cheered. Ale splashed on the tables as they followed suit.

Merlin glanced over at Arthur. His face was studiously flat, though he perhaps threw the tankard of ale down on the table harder than really necessary.

“‘Ey, you!” shouted one of the men from the noble’s table. “Boy! The blond one! Aren’t you Uther’s boy?”

Arthur lifted his chin and nodded shortly. He would never be ashamed of who his father was. 

“You got him serving tables, eh Cenred! Nice work for a former prince of a kingdom, ain’t it!” the man shouted, and Cenred raised his cup for a clumsy toast. 

Arthur’s ears burned. It was nothing. They could believe whatever they wanted about him. He turned to go back to the kitchens. 

“Where you going!” shouted the noble, leering. “I never had a prince serve me before, I think I could get to like it!”

Arthur tensed. Across the room, Merlin met his eyes helplessly. 

“King Cadwallader,” came a feminine voice, and the noble blinked and turned his head. “Cenred tells me your horses are known for many kingdoms for the finest in the land. Do they speak truly?” 

It was Morgana, turning her green gaze on him, and few men could resist it. Cadwallader blinked. 

“Of course they do, milady,” he said, turning to face her. “My stables are the fleetest, strongest horses in the land. There’s lineages that come from far out East, they do!”

“Tell me more,” Morgana said, and she caught Arthur’s gaze behind Cadwallader’s back and nodded. He tried to communicate the deepest gratitude he could into a glance, and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I....am so sorry. Apparently even in fanfic, where you should have a respite from the cringe-inducing fart humor....I still bring it in. I AM SORRY.
> 
> ....Not sorry enough, clearly.
> 
> Next chap: Gwen, Merlin & Arthur play a little detective. If you read and enjoyed, please let me know!


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